


Halo ODST: To Love a Dying World

by ThomasSheradin



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Combat, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Halo - Freeform, Halo Lore, Insurrection, Military, Minimal Lore Divergence, Mystery, ODST Orbital Drop Shock Trooper(s), Oni, Original Character(s), Reach, SPARTAN-II, Science Fiction, Slow Romance, Spartan 010 Naomi, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22127422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomasSheradin/pseuds/ThomasSheradin
Summary: James Ellis is an ODST trooper fighting the insurgency on Reach when the Covenant invasion takes place. Through unusual circumstance his team joins up with ONI and is paired with a Gen 2 Spartan "Naomi" 010. James has a hidden past with the Spartan program but Naomi's suspicions are raised when reviewing the team's files only to find Ellis' completely blacked out. This tension characterizes their relationship, as does an unspoken connection that drives them together even amidst the death and destruction of an entire world.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 14





	1. Welcome to Reach

I sit silent inside my Single Occupant Exoatmospheric Insertion Vehicle... Everyone I know just calls it a drop pod, or the _egg_. The weight of the brace bars are pressing down on my shoulders, ironically making me feel more grounded as I hover some two thousand kilometers above the planet. I've checked that the M7 Caseless is mag locked in position beside me a dozen times already, but I check again anyway. I can't turn my head while secured in the drop pod, something about neck injuries, so I run my gloved fingers along the large silencer attached to it. The weapon's familiarity eases my nerves. I'm always scared that I'll get planet side and find out I've somehow managed to leave without a weapon. Its an irrational fear-- It wouldn't be possible to get into the pod, go through the three stages of checks, have the SL check the pod, and everyone misses it. But I still worry. I still check again and again.

We're almost in position. The timer in the upper right corner of my HUD shows a countdown till the UNCS Minotaur is over the area of operation. 1:30. 1:29. 1:28. I tap out the seconds with my boot, one of the few parts of my body I can still move with any degree of freedom. The pod's displays start coming online. Each is a live-feed from the other pods launching with me. My squadmates. In the center is Sergeant Chance, the bold red stripe running along the top of his helmet clearly marking him as the squad leader. There are five of us in total, myself included. Full strength for us. Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. I can't help but chuckle. How did I ever end up in the ODST? The biggest joke. A bunch of insane, half-cocked, over-committed and under-educated jarheads... I don't think we could be anything else, because what kind of sane, smart person would willingly be shot out of a cannon into a planet? None. We are _Helljumpers_. I don't try to hide my pride about it either. We're insane, and we're good at our job. The best.

Chance's voice breaks over the helmet's coms. Its open to the entire squad, and I can see the readout of his transmission strength and each of the receiving squaddies on the left side of my helmet's display. I say their names in my head like I always do at the start of an op. _Sergeant Chance, Corporal Glasgow, Private Jostad, Private. Ifedi, and Private Ellis._ James Ellis. Me. _Still alive._

"Where are we going?" Chance asks.

"Hell!" We all reply.

"And how are we getting there?!"

The timer ticks down. 3... 2... 1...

"Feet first!" We roar back.

The pod drops. The altitude reading on the pod's display is going crazy, flipping down through numbers faster than I can track. It also shows the rotation of the planet, the heading, and a bunch of other navigational data which blends together in my mind. I've seen it before, forty-seven times before. This will be forty-eight. Almost to the fifty mark. I try not to think about, but it makes me excited anyway. It will be 90 seconds before impact. I can hear Jostad howling over the mic like he's on a roller coaster. The others join him, except for Glasgow and myself. We've always been quieter. I don't think it's for the same reasons though. Truthfully the drops terrify me. Worst part is being stuck helpless inside a small metal tube hurtling towards the ground. It's all automated too, so you're not in control of when the chute deploys or if the decent is cocked up by some undiagnosed computer error buried deep within some caffeine-addled programmer's butchered code. The UNSC doesnt share the numbers with us either, of how many drops end up with one pod plastered alongside a cliff. They say it's safe. I think safe is relative.

Flames lick the outside of the pod as we start hitting the higher levels of real atmo. I check the readings on the pod with another glance. It says the temperatures are within "normal ranges." I don't see any red flashing lights but it doesn't make me feel any better. There is a camera mounted in the hull of the pod, and I task it up on the main monitor. Chance's face moves off to one of the leftern most displays. I can't see the ground yet. Its dark, and the cloud cover is dense. That's a good thing, as we're less likely to have a hot drop - combat right after the doors open. We'll have time to get on task before things go sideways. I look at the altitude reader- we're about half way down.

Jostad cracks over the coms channel again. "Wink, why were the Vikings such good sailors?"

Glasgow, who we all call Wink on account she's the squad's sniper, responded. "I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Because you can lead a Norse to water, but you can't make him sink." Jostad laughed. It was a deep sound, comforting in its own way. Wink groaned.

"That shit was horrendous." Ifedi replies.

"Impact in twenty seconds!" Chance cut across the coms.

My jaw tenses up. I'm ready for the crash. I hear a loud bang as the latches on the top of the pod blow. The quad finned chute which they contain is quickly caught by the wind and deploys. The pod yanks backwards in violent protest as it's decent is arrested by the added drag. The pod is basically one giant impact compensator. Crumple zones and heavy duty compression systems are the bulk of what I'm surrounded by. Still, you're slowing down 1,300 pounds of equipment and meat. You feel it.

I slam into the ground and for a moment my helmet's HUD goes dead from the impact. It's only a brief flicker though, and I'm back up. Four explosive pins detonate and send the pod's door flying some thirty yards forward. A heartbeat later and my training kicks in. I detach myself from the crash harness, and with my weapon in hand put boots on the ground. I crouch inside the deployment zone and scan the surrounding area. The squad's spread is good this time. Our pods have all landed within a hundred yards of each other, and more importantly I haven't been shot at. _Yet._

I flick my helmet over to night vision and suddenly the word is green, with Targets of Interest, equipment and personnel, outlined in bright green lines. We're fifty yards from a tree line, and thirty from a cliffside. A tight landing zone by definition. I don't want to waste time. I'm on my feet as soon as I see Ifedi is out of his pod to my right. Both of us start jogging towards Chance's impact site, weapon's raised and at the ready. As we pass the others, each falls in alongside us and the four of us arrive at Chance's pod. He already has his Data Sat Pad out.

"Clocks at zero three-hundred twenty-three. Position... Grid KJ, zero-six seventy-two, by forty-four eighty-three. Confirm."

I double check my sat nav as he's speaking, confirming the position and cronometer. It's green across the board. "Confirm." We each say one at a time.

"Alrighty then... " Chance pauses and stands up. "Objective is a little over eight klicks to the North-West, but looking at the topography here... What a mess."

"Welcome to Reach." Wink remarks.

The others laugh. I laugh too. Chance doesn't. We've been making drops here for over two months, and every drop is a nightmare of topography. Reach is a collection of large valleys and treacherous mountain ranges. It's the perfect place for insurgent forces to hide. Villages dot the surface, as the booming colony still relies on large highway networks to transport ground goods across colonies. Mining, specifically titanian, is a massive export.

"Scratch, what do you think?" Chance asks.

"We're probably going to have to proceed North till we can find a way down. If we aren't unlucky we'll arrive on the outskirts of the village within two hours I'd guess." Ifedi, or Scratch as was his nickname, is a local. To reach anyway. Generally he knows the terrain well, and is easily the best trailblazer in the squad. He joined the UNSC trying to get away from his home, and the Innies had brought him right back.

"Then that's what we do. Scratch, you're on point."

"Roger." He replies, and moves out accordingly. He chambers a round in his M45 as he takes point and starts making his way through the long grass and scattered bushes that are the dominant feature of Reach's mountains.

"You running buck or slugs today?" I ask.

"Buck." He replies.

"Is that because of last time?" Jostad remarks. I laugh, even Wink chuckles. Last mission Scratch had been firing at an Innie eighty yards off with slugs. It was near the tail end of a firefight, and he missed. Three times. Wink had taken the shot to finish the fight.

"The sun was in my eyes." Scratch responds, half joking. I can almost see him smiling through the silver mirror of his helmet's visor.

"Oh, right. Nevermind that our visor's filter out glare." Jostad taps the side of his helmet.

"Mine was broken. Don't worry, its fixed now."

***

The cronometer ticks over another minute. One hour and twelve minutes have passed, all of it spent navigating the hillside and picking our way past thickets. I look towards the horizon, but at four-thirty in the morning it's still pitch black without the NVs from my helmet. We're in no danger of losing the light if we can get on task soon.

"Sergeant, eyes on the objective." Its Wink's voice. She is standing a few yards off on the edge of a sheer drop. I moved to join her, falling in behind Jostad.

At the edge, a few hundred feet below, was the tell-tale yellow glow of electric lights. The village was on the small to medium size. Probably housed a few dozen families, with local farmlands and such being spread out across the near stepps. All of us remain quiet. We're all making the same mental calculations-- looking at the approach.

"It'll take another ten to get down to that ridge at bearing three-thirty." Chance points to a spot where the cliff face mellowed into a gentle slope. It looks like a water run off point, or maybe a natural river bed. "We enter from the North side of the village, the target's house in third in. Right there. The one next to the compound. Simple breach and clear and we exfil the same way we came in. We'll be out of there before anyone knows whats up."

"We hope to be out of there before anyone knows whats up." I correct.

Chance nods. "Right. Assuming shit gets fubar we push out to the West, using the compound as cover and break radio silence to ask for Pelican extract." He pauses, letting us absorb the plan.

"As a reminder," He continues. "The target is this man here." On my helmet a picture of a middle to late aged male appears. The same picture that was used in the brief aboard the Minotaur. He has a dark complexion, brown eyes, strong cheekbones and a firm brow with thin eyebrows. Black hair, cut to a respectable length. "Doctor Amari Shuls. Wanted fugitive, Innie spy. The works. Worked with ONI for years so be prepared for anything. The man is smart."

"Is this a blank op or what?" Wink asks.

Chance doesn't hesitate. "Confirmed. In and out. No extra luggage."

"Great." She remarks, with a barely hidden edge to her voice. She isn't a fan of these ops. None of us blame her. Fighting the Innies has been less clear cut than any of us would have liked. No prisoners. I take a breath and clear my mind.

"Fall in. Heads in the game and lets get this done. Ginger, you're on point" Chance's tone is authoritative. It's time to work. We all nod in turn and fall in. I check my M7 once more and take position leading the squad down the rest of the incline.

"Can't ONI handle its own dirty laundry?" Jostad says with a grunt of annoyance.

"Let's be clear, this isn't some sketchy cover op we've been shoved into by ONI higher ups. This man is a traitor to the UNSC. He's a fugitive and we're bringing him to justice. We've done this before, so stop acting like rookies and get your shit wired. Double for you, Viking."

Jostad grunted once more but I can see him nodding his helmet. "Yes Sarg." He says.

Its four fifty-eight in the morning when we make it down to the village through what turns out is a natural river springs coming off the mountain range and down to the village reservoir. I turn on the laser sight of my M7 and push through a concrete alcove attached to a larger structure that must serve as the village's main shipping and transportation hub. Around us are forklifts and large semi-trucks currently unloaded and awaiting dawn's light to start their work.

"Target building ahead." I say, and stop short of crossing the street, hidden in the alcove's shadows. I feel Chance's hand on my shoulder, letting me know he's in position and ready. Ahead is a two-story building. There is an entrance on the bottom floor, a main door next to a garage and drive-way. I pull up the floor plan we were given during the brief. I know Chance is doing the same.

"Viking, Ginger, you're on the bottom floor. Push in and up. Stay alert. Anyone makes a move, ghost 'em. Everyone else get them face down and kissing the floor."

"Roger." I say.

"Roger." Viking echoes.

"Myself, Wink, and Scratch have the second floor. There are three rooms. First is the kids, second is guest, and third is the target. Wink, you've got the guest. Me and Scratch press for the target. When we're all done we move to exfil through the garage. Wait for my go to breach. Clear?"

"Clear." We all respond.

Chance taps my shoulder. We're a go. I cross the street, and the split happens mid stride. Me and Viking obsessively scanning the area. We hit the door and stack up on either side, Viking with his hand on the door handle. The electric lock acknowledges our clearance and blinks over to green. We wait for the Sergeant's signal.

"Go."

Viking opens the door and I'm first through. First room is a kitchen. Open floor plan with an island that spills over into a living room, dining room combo. To the right are ceiling high windows that open onto what would normally be a lovely courtyard but right now just makes this an exposed position. The stairwell is visible to the left, through which I catch a glimpse of the second team entering through a side door from a stairwell in the backyard. I focus on my target, a door near the rear of the building. Behind it is a large office room and the perfect place for targets to hide-- bodyguards maybe. My finger moves to the trigger as we approach.

There is a crash and thunderous boom from above, but it isn't the sound of Scratch's shotgun. I look to my right to see a shape through the window, a second before its breached. An armored figure, a full foot taller than myself comes through, rifle raised and broken glass showering down. I pivot, dropping my knee out from under me to try and get my barrel on target fast enough to fire. The M7 recoils in my hand as I start firing, but the figure is faster than I expected.

"Viking!" I cry out, as the assailant grabs hold of my weapon and pushes me back against the wall with a thud. I struggle, but there is nothing I can do. It feels like my weapon is being held by industrial clamps. I look over and see Viking sprawled out onto the floor with another of our attackers atop him.

"What the fuck?!" He says, as he kicks his feet helplessly.

"Stand down." The man says.

"You're Spartans?" The realisation hits me now that I have a good look at the helmet staring back at me. I've only worked with two spartan teams before, and even as ODST that was damn rare. I see the Spartan's orange helmet turn to his partner and then back to me.

"Yes. Now stand down."

"We have orders." I reply, not exactly sure what else to say.

"And they're being overridden."

"Fine. We'll stand down - just let me up!" Viking puts words to how I'm feeling.

I nod to the orange Spartan. I feel the man's grip on my M7 ease, and the pressure pinning me to the wall vanishes. The other, in teal armor, pulls Viking to his feet as effortlessly as one would pick up a bag of groceries. I breathe a bit more easily and look around. The readout on the rest of the fireteam is still green across the board, but they're off coms.

"I'm Spear Three, that's Spear Five. We're here to retrieve the package."

I look at the man who I confirm is almost a full head taller than me. "But we have orders to..." I stop speaking when the Spartan simply turns away. I look at Viking who just shrugs. I doubt even if I got off a full mag into the Spartan's back he wouldn't just turn around and smash my face in. I decide there isn't anything I can do.

Chance's voice comes over the radio. "Kilo-Five, report status. Ginger, Viking, you two alright?"

I respond. "All clear down here Sir, just got some sudden company. Same upstairs I assume?"

"Same here. Doctor Amari is under ONI custody. We're to aid Spear team transport Doctor Amari to an ONI facility South of here called Sword base."

"The Major know about this?" Viking asks.

"It's the Major's orders." Chance replies.

The rest of what I assume is Spear team descends the stairs, each a hulking figure of armor and armament. Between them is the target, wearing a white coat and pale blue slacks. He looks quite put together for someone who should have just woken up. Following them is the rest of Kilo-Five. The Spartan at the head of the pack, who I assume is the leader, speaks first. "We have two transport Warthogs on the edge of the village to the South. Get ready to move."

I see movement on the rooftop across from our position and squint. Suddenly the lead Spartan's armor flares a bright gold and the unmistakable sound of a sniper rifle echoes across the village.

"Contact, contact! Roof at sixty!" I point to the building and move for cover.

The Spartans are lightning quick, the teal and a white armored one erupting with suppressing fire from their assault rifles. I grab the Doctor along with Chance and we shove him down behind the kitchen island for cover.

"They won't let me go without a fight!" Amari declares, a statement I imagine we're all already keenly aware of.

"My team will cover you. Get the Doctor to the garage and move South to the extract. One of my team is there. We'll be right behind you." The lead Spartan doesn't even turn as he speaks, marching forwards through the broken window and out into the courtyard. The entire village is awake now and innie's are taking positions in every window and alcove they can find. Through my NVs their movements are as clear as day.

"You heard the man!" Wink says, and dashes across the room, kicking open the garage door before wheeling around to cover us.

With the doctor between us Chance and I move towards the garage. I hear the sound of bullets impacting around us, and see a chunk of the door near Wink's shoulder go missing. She returns fire, the big caliber rifle seeming to suck the oxygen from the room as she discharges two rounds before we've got the doctor through to the garage. Viking and Scratch are right behind us.

"My children!" The Amari cries. I hear him, but pretend not to.

"I've got point!" Scratch shouts, smashing the garage door button with his fist before moving into position. Slowly it rises, and we see the extent of the damage. Innies are everywhere, and gunshots fill the air. The village is a hot zone. _Its fubar._

Three blocks go by with us under constant incoming fire before we finally see the Warthogs. A Spartan in bright yellow armor is wielding two assault rifles, one in either hand and standing on top of the lead vehicle. A bullet impacts my shoulderguard and I stumble, letting go of the doctor. Viking takes my place instantly.

"You good!?" Chance radios in.

I check, padding my shoulder. It doesn't hurt, and I can still move. "I'm good!"

Fifty more feet, Scratch leading the way, his shotgun barking angrily at assaulting innie combatants. I see one come around a nearby corner carrying a rocket launcher. Three rounds into his chest before he can get off a shot, the silencer of my M7 smoking in the cool night air. I try not to think about how wrong that could have gone and keep running when I see Viking and Chance stumble. I pump more rounds into a nearby building, hitting one and suppressing two others.

"The Doctor's hit!" Wink says over coms, firing her rifle and dropping a target taking position on one of the balconies.

Viking and Chance are back on their feet, and move to the lead Warthog. They start to load the doctor into the flatbed. Is see Viking grab the railing and jump into the back with the injured doctor, already removing a FAK from the hardcase on his leg.

"How bad?" Chance asks.

"Not sure yet. I dont think its bad." Viking replies.

Chance wastes no time. "Ginger, Wink, and Scratch, you're on the second Warthog. Ginger, take the wheel. Viking, stay with the doctor."

I ditch my M7 into the back seat and dive into the driver's position. The Warthog's engine is already prepped and hot, and its tiers angrily dig up gravel as I follow the Spartan whose already gunning the engine of the lead Warthog. I look down at the speedometer and realise we aren't slowing down. "What about the rest of the Spartans?" I ask.

Just as I speak I see them running out of the village. Two of them are carrying children under their arms, wielding weapons in the other hand. They run up alongside both Warthogs, effortlessly keeping pace and grabbing on right after they shoulder their weapons. The leader sits in the passenger seat next to me.

"Don't worry, we're here." He sounds calm, not even winded.

A few moments later and we're tearing ass down a narrow cliff-side road, my eyes fully focused on tracking the lead vic. I'm trying not to send us careening off the edge of the mountain and to our deaths a few hundred feet below.

"And thats how its done." I hear Scratch shout from the back of the Warthog. He's laughing, and I realise so am I.

***

The blade-like structure juts out from the surrounding terrain, stabbing at the sky with an unnaturally angular construction. Its exterior is cold grey metal, plain and intimidating, everything I'd expect an ONI secure base of operations to look like.

"Sword, hu? The name certainly fits." Wink remarks and I have to agree.

"Drive around the next bend and head East. You'll see the entrance there." It's the lead Spartan, who I've learned is predictably called Spear One.

"Should we radio ahead?" Chance inquires.

"Already done, Sergeant."

We finally start to slow down. Amari's wounds turned out to be nothing more than a graze. He is very lucky. _We all are_. I keep replaying the events in my head, and the holes are making less sense. Why were the Spartans sent to intercept us? Why are we bringing the Doctor who is an innie spy to the center of a hidden ONI installation? I assume it's probably interrogation but the Spartans don't seem to be treating him and his family like a prisoners. I doubt I'll ever get answers to any of these questions. I expect we'll drop the Doctor off and be aboard a Pelican shortly thereafter, ordered never to speak about the mission again. _I hope there isn't any paperwork._

I see the lead Warthog slow down, and come to a stop. A man, not a Spartan, dressed head to toe in a black ONI combat uniform approaches. In front of us is the entrance to Sword base, two large, angled blast doors that look like they could withstand a direct hit from a MAC canon.

"What the hell are they keeping in there?" Scratch remarks. He's leaning on the roll bar above me.

"I doubt we're going to find out." I answer.

"True, true. You right."

"I hope you weren't under the illusion you're special." Viking comments before Chance cuts us off.

"We're clear to proceed. Keep it tight people."

_He's telling us not to get into trouble_. I depress the accelerator and gradually ease the Warthog forwards. There is a hiss and a smooth mechanical rumble as the blast door lowers, allowing us entry. I drive in, passing an additional checkpoint just inside, and heading up a curved ramp into what looks like a staging area. Another set of blast doors open and we drive down into an underground garage before stopping next to a clean, white structure which marked the entrance to Sword base.

Nobody says anything now. My mouth is dry but I'm not removing my helmet just yet. There are a lot of rumors about ONI. How they do things, and what they do are generally very closely guarded secrets and that just leads to talk. At the end of the day the UNSC is an organisation, and they know certain things are better left unsaid. It's hard not to acknowledge that it's gotten worse since the uprising. Since the insurrection. You can't get a straight answer from anyone and security clearance and classifications have become the norm. It doesn't stop people from talking though. Disappearances, and rumors about abductions just add fuel to the fire. The Spartans too... _The Spartans especially._

The Warthog in front shuts off its engine. Spear team is already jumping off, helping Doctor Amari and his two children towards the facility door. I don't move, and keep the engine running.

"We'll just... wait here then?" Viking asks.

Nobody says anything. I'm not sure what there is to say at this point. A few moments go by and we watch the Spartan team as well as the three civies have a conversation with someone over the base's com system. After a few minutes the doors into Sword base open, and then they are gone. All except the Spartan leader.

"Kilo-Five, disembark. Your presence has been requested by Doctor Halsey." Spear One says over our channel.

"Who?" Wink asks automatically. I don't think she meant to say that aloud.

Chance clears his throat. "Sorry, but we should radio Major Horn and-"

"Doctor Halsey is expecting you. Leave your weapons." This time his voice makes it clear this isn't really up for debate.

I shut off the Warthog and awkwardly hop out. I look at the others and see they're just as uncomfortable as I am. Somehow that makes me feel better.


	2. Truth and Reconciliation

The deeper we go into the interior of Sword base the more similar everything looks. I wonder if that's intentional or not, part of some sinister design. It's hard to recognise anything, and easy to get lost, two things I imagine would be useful for a base that probably doesn't officially exist. I realise I should have been dropping points in my sat nav, just in case we have to retrace our steps. It wouldn't help to start now though, and honestly what do I think is going to happen? Even if things get totally fucked it's not like we're going to be able to fight our way out of an entire ONI base. _Fight? What am I thinking, these are allies_. It won't get that bad. It can't.

I haven't seen the doctor, or the rest of Spear team since we entered, and I'm not going to ask where they are. All of us just follow Spear One quietly. I haven't talked to the rest of Kilo-Five either, figuring that our Spartan chaperone probably has our comms on tap. Nothing like not having privacy to make you behave.

Finally after what seems like an eternity of corridors, elevators, and doorways we arrive at something of note, at least more notable than stark white corridors. It's another large blast door and the Spartan starts the opening sequence.

"I don't have to tell you not to talk about anything behind this door." Spartan One turns his head and looks at us directly for the first time in recent memory.

"What about the stuff we just walked through?" Viking retorts.

_He just can't help himself, can he?_ The Spartan doesn't answer and we're all too focused on what we can now see. It's a huge natural cavern, miles wide and full of clear, reflective ice. Above us is a massive ice dome, that is who knows how thick. Its breathtaking, but also strange. The strangeness isn't helped by what I can see in the distance. A ship, or some kind of installation larger than anything I've seen and constructed like nothing else. Its buried here, probably hundreds of feet below the natural ice shelf, hidden from view. _How did ONI even find this place?_

"That's not one of ours, is it?" Wink asks.

"No." The Spartan answers without further elaboration.

I don't want to think about those implications. We start walking through the cavern, heading towards what looks like a bunker next to the structure. The evidence of construction is everywhere, but it looks like things have been halted ages ago. Digging equipment, trucks and loaders are scattered around boxes of heavy mining equipment, all long since turned off and left. They didn't even bother shipping the stuff back out to the surface... They must have found what they were looking for.

Inside the bunker it's more of the same. Long, plain metal hallways leading towards the foreign structure. Eventually it opens up into a larger room, and behind a glass window I can see an entire team of scientists working. They're busy, too much so to acknowledge our presence. All except one. An older looking woman, maybe in her late fifties with a short bob haircut and piercing eyes. She signals to those next to her, giving them orders I can't hear and leaves the console where she was working. After passing through an airlock she approaches Spear One who for the first time removes his helmet.

I see Scratch recoil, and I can't help but stare. The man behind the helmet looks... young. Fifteen maybe? He's just a child but his eyes are unavoidably ancient. Scars cover him him. Thin scars from medical tools, implants just underneath the skin, as well as a variety of different battle scars. This kid, this soldier, has been fighting for a very long time. _What that means..._ It unsettles me.

"Spartan One-Zero-Four... Frederic," The woman says. "You completed the mission to an acceptable standard?"

"Yes, Doctor Halsey." The Spartan replies, his tone is respectful as though her were talking to his own mother.

_Halsey... this is the woman who brought us down here_. She turns to our team, and I shuffle uncomfortably under her gaze. I feel like I'm being judged, and in all honesty we probably are.

"You're Kilo-Five, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am." Chance replies.

"I read your file. Remove your helmets."

We pause. I look sideways at Wink who does the same. Neither of us seem keen on the idea, but we see Chance opening the atmospheric seal on his helmet. I let out a small sigh then do the same. The air here is cool, and tastes metallic from being pumped through filters a dozen times.

Halsey studies us for a moment, as though she were looking at a piece of equipment. I've seen the look before from Major Horn just before he's about to send us on what can politely be called a sucide mission. It's the look of someone trying not to see you as a human being, of someone who sees you as an asset. _Is that really so inaccurate?_ I guess not. At the end of the day we're fixers-- shoot us at a problem and it goes away.

"Sergeant Alex Chance, would you mind telling me why you were attempting to kill a member of my staff?" Halsey's voice is clipped and firm, but not angry.

"Ma'am?" Chance asks. He sounds confused. So am I.

"Doctor Amari is a member of my staff, Sergeant, and come to find out you were trying to kill him. Thankfully my Spartans got there first."

"We had orders to eliminate an enemy spy, ma'am."

"I read your orders, they were for VIP retrieval."

Chance looks back at us with a perplexed expression. I shrug, unsure what aid I can offer him. Wink steps to his side and leans forwards, whispering something into his ear. Chance's face goes dark and then he speaks.

"I understand, ma'am-"

"Please, call me Doctor Halsey."

"Doctor Halsey, there was a miscommunication over the lines. We got our wires crossed and must have intercepted a rogue transmission. Obviously our official orders, the ones you read, the ones that came from Major Horn, are correct. We were there to retrieve the package."

Halsey laughs, but it isn't full of humor or levity. Afterwards though she gives us a genuine smile. "You care for your team, don't you Sergeant?"

"Yes ma- Doctor Halsey."

"How would you like to come work for me?"

Viking starts coughing violently, and everyone gathered stares at him. After a few moments he waves us off. His face is bright red. "Sorry." He croaks. "Own spit. Down the wrong pipe."

"I'm not sure I follow, Doctor Halsey." Chance admits.

"You're smart, Sergeant. Think about the situation you're in and how you found yourself here, then think about who you work for. I mean really work for. You can either... stay the course and keep your head in the dark, sent on ops with unclear objectives where you don't know friend from foe or... you can work for me. I need work done on Reach and I can't afford to send an entire Spartan fireteam out every time. I have a use for you and I'm making you an offer."

Silence. The Spartan, Fredreick, is staring at us. Me, specifically. "Sir." I say. "I think we should... consider it."

Chance looks at me, his brow furrowed. Wink is nodding in agreement with me.

"Consider what? Major Horn isn't just going to let us switch uniforms, Ginger. How do you think this works?"

"Leave Major Horn to me, Sergeant."

***

I look down at my boots, still coated in mud and dust from the previous mission. I check my cronometer, and realise it's only ten in the morning. Feels later. We've been moved to a different room. It's a plain box with benches and chairs. We're supposed to be thinking, talking about what to do next, and getting ready to give Halsey an answer. No one has said anything for fifteen minutes. Wink is still pacing in the center of the room.

"So..." Scratch starts, and the rest of us look at him. "What just happened?"

"We were used." Wink accuses.

Chance shakes his head. "Wink, we weren't used..."

"Then what do you call it? Major Horn sent us to kill a loyal man. He was kidnapped. That's what Halsey said-- He's just a scientist, with a family, and the Innie's surrounded his home."

I look at Chance who lets out a sigh and picks at a piece of dirt on his armor.

"You remember what you said during the op? That this wasn't some sketchy mission ordered by ONI? That we were bringing a man to justice? A traitor." Wink stares at him.

Chance nods. "I remember."

"Well I guess you were partially right. It wasn't ONI who ordered it. We were basically a hit squad!"

Viking scratches the back of his neck, he looks exasperated. "Shes right."

"Oh that's a helpful contribution, Viking. Thanks." Chance retorts while he rolls his eyes.

Viking shrugs, throwing his hands up in the air. "What do you want from me?"

"What makes any of you think working for ONI-- no, working for Halsey, because don't be fooled that's exactly what this is, what makes ANY of you think that will be different?" Chance waves his hand at us, inviting anyone to refute his statement. "We don't even know who this woman is, other than she has access to a team of Spartans. That sound normal to any of you?"

"Because she's personally invested." I answer. "If she wants it done she's going to give us the tools we need to be successful. That's more than can be said for the UNSC right now. We've been fighting ghosts, Chance. It's been nothing but dark op after dark op. When's the last time we were even in a stand up firefight? The Innie's are fighting a losing war on Reach and they know it. It's only going to get worse when they start going into hiding and we have to start kicking down doors in the main cities tracking down accused war criminals."

"That's what you signed up for!" He shouts back. He isn't wrong I guess.

"If that's what we have to do then we should be told." Wink's face is more solemn than I've ever seen it. "We have the chance to at least know what we're getting into this way. We should take it."

Chance sighs, but nods his head. I think he already agreed with us, just needed to hear it aloud. "Here's the deal. This conversation dies in this room. We'll take Halsey up on her offer but there is NO guarantee Major Horn goes for this. She might be the real deal, she might not. If not, we hop back on the Pelican and leave, and this whole thing stays between us. None of us are getting court martialed. We stick to the official story, we do our jobs, and we all make it out on the other side alive. Just like always."

Everyone stands up and nods. "Yes Sergeant." We say.

Chance walks over to the intercom attached to the wall and thumbs the bottom. "Doctor Halsey? We're in."

There is a pause, before Frederic's voice comes replies. "I will let the Doctor know. In the meantime head up top. Get some food, and hit the armory."

***

We were all surprised when Major Horn himself thanked us for our service over the comms, with Doctor Halsey standing next to us the entire time. _Your service to the UNSC has been exemplary, and I know that given this position aiding Doctor Halsey your record will only become more impressive._ I don't pretend to be a smart man, and I don't try and follow the politics within the UNSC and Highcom, but I certainly didn't think transferring out of the ODST and into ONI would be quite so smooth. I look down at my new armor and combat suit, painted black with ONI's colors as markings. It's the same model as ODST armor, but I can feel the joints are smoother; everything feels just a bit more responsive. Apparently in addition to a host of smaller upgrades it has some kind of new energy dispersal weave that's supposed to make it substantially better at absorbing punishment than the standard issue stuff. _I'll focus on not getting shot before relying on it_.

I hang my legs over the side of the Falcon transport helicopter watching the scenery go by. Its two twin rotors are locked in the forward position and underneath us the rolling mountains of Reach zip past. We're speeding towards the coast and our new assignment, our first assignment as an ONI Fireteam.

"Innie combatants have assaulted and taken control of an ONI research installation which is dedicated to translating the data funneled to them by the main dig site under Sword base." Chance says over the coms. "According to ONI camera feeds the science team at the site has locked themselves in a secure safe room on the western side of the complex. We'll be landing at the Eastern entrance, where we'll be greeted by ONI security. Our mission is to push in, link up with a Spartan asset already inside the facility, and return to facility to ONI control."

"How'd a bunch of insurgent yahoos get inside?" Wink asks.

"Who knows, not our job. I'm sure the investigators will search for any holes after we pull ONI assets out of the fire."

I clear the breach on my M7 and get set for combat. "How much longer till we arrive?" I ask as I watch Scratch anxiously drumming his hands against the shotgun in his lap.

"Almost there." Chance confirms.

The flight goes by fast and soon we're landing on a rocky, ugly beach about fifty yards from a coastal facility. Its much larger than Sword base, at least the part I can see. The outside looks more like a civilian structure, some kind of shipping yard or launch station. The entire facility overhangs the coastal cliff with an industrial dock below. _This place is used to dealing with heavy equipment_.

"Kilo-Five?!" A man runs up to the chopper, waving us forward.

"Yeah, what's the situation?" Chance asks, taking the lead. I fall in to his left, and Wink takes his right.

"The Insurgent force has continued to push deeper into the facility. We're pursuing them as they give up ground, but without backup we can't push in before they've reached the science team."

"That's why we're here. I was told the science team is secured in a safe room?"

"That's correct, Sir."

A pair of guards salute and open the door to the facility. It squeaks and wines with protest, rust from constantly being exposed to the coastal elements having darkened and potted the steel. Inside the corridors are utilitarian, confirming my suspicions that this was, at least at one point, a civilian heavy shipping facility. Exposed pipes and heavy power cords are openly strung along the walls, labeled with bright, primary colors.

"Assuming the enemy gets there what are we dealing with? How much time do we have?" Scratch inquires.

"It's hard to say, Sir, probably not long. Thirty minutes or less? There were two insurgent teams that hit the facility in a coordinated attack. One of them went to the loading bay and have been transporting welding equipment to the safe room. They're ahead of the main force that's delaying us and they're likely to be at the doors within the next few minutes."

Chance speaks over our internal comms. "Have any of you been looking at these blueprints? Half of the hallways we've passed aren't even on here."

"Yeah... ONI's definetly put their own spin on the interior since these plans were made." Scratch remarks. "It looks like we're just going to have to go old school and fight our way through."

"What we do best." Viking says with a grin in his voice.

"We were told a Spartan was at this facility, you know anything about that?" Chance directs his question to the man escorting us.

"Spartan, Sir? No. You're the first group we've seen. It's just through here, Sir."

We arrive at a locked security door and just behind it I can hear the discharge of assault rifles. They sound like dull thuds from behind the heavy steel door. Viking and Scratch are already loaded and ready, taking a position on either side of the door. I fall in behind Scratch, Wink moves behind Viking. We each nod to Chance who takes the middle avenue.

"Open it." Chance orders.

As soon as the door lifts an explosion sends an ONI trooper to the floor, shrapnel having ruined his face. He's coughing, his lungs probably torn to shreds by the shockwave from the grenade. I step over his body and move forwards under Viking's covering fire.

"Moving up!" I call, dashing down the corridor and taking cover behind a makeshift barrier of steel equipment boxes the ONI security team had moved into position. I peak over the top of the bunker and survey the area. Down the hall is a similarly constructed barrier, with three innies taking cover and returning fire with MA37 assault rifles. A moment later and Wink is next to me.

"Ginger, suppress and I'll pop the one on the right!" She calls.

I nods and stand, bracing my M7 against the box and letting it roar in full auto. The rapid fire sub catches one of the innie's by surprise and before he can get down his torso is hit by half a dozen rounds. I see him fall, a fine mist of red hanging in the air for just a fraction of a second. The boom of Wink's rifle rips through the air a second later, the large projective tearing through the enemies' barrier like a mere inconvenience and turning the man behind into a mess of dead flesh.

Before the third has time to run I've vaulted the barrier along with Scratch and we're running down the hall, his shotgun belching gouts of flame from its barrel as he pumps shot after shot into the enemy position. We arrive before the target has managed to recover from the death of his two allies and I put a few rounds into chest before moving on.

"Next checkpoint!" Chance calls from right behind us.

Three more barriers fall to our assault, and the innie's will to fight is already starting to break. We're chewing through them faster than they can prepare the next strongpoint. I feel good. My heart is racing but I'm calm. I'm in my element, we all are. It feels like an eternity since Kilo-Five has actually been in a proper combat scenario, not since we'd shipped off Tribute after the conclusion of Operation Trebuchet. This is what we trained for.

"Stationary!" Viking calls, pointing at the next barrier.

"Where the fuck did they find that thing?!" Scratch cries before diving for cover under a hail of bullets.

I peak around my position. About thirty yards down the corridor is another barrier, but this one is heavier. In the middle of it I can see an M247H heavy machine gun mounted to an armored frame.The gunner is almost totally obscured by a thick metal shield bolted to the gun. It's the perfect killzone. A bullet impacts next to my face, forcing me to duck back behind cover again.

"Those heavy rounds will tear through our shit, Sergeant, what do we do!?"

Chance grunts with annoyance, firing a few rounds down at the target which bounce harmlessly off the gun's shield. "I don't know. We can't flank it-- these blueprints are a damn mess and they don't show another way into where the scientists are being held. We've have to go through!"

I fire a few rounds myself, hoping for a lucky shot but the turret is too well armored. _They must have been preparing for this position the entire time. The other barriers were just to buy time. This is the real defensive position_. "Someone's gotta bounce the barrier and throw a grenade behind the enemy position. It's the only way we'll dig them out." I shout over the roar of the enemies' incoming fire.

"To get that kind of accuracy you'd have to get within fifteen yards of the position!" Wink points out.

"Thats ten yards you've got to cover with that MG on your ass. No way. You wouldn't make it ten feet!"

"No other way." I growl between gritted teeth. I know I'm right, but I'm not happy about it.

"Leave it to me." A voice breaks over our comms, one I haven't heard before. Its soft, and inescapably feminie. Then I see her-- the Spartan. Just as intimidating as the others and in dark, metallic blue armor. She sprints down the corridor and leaps over my position. The enemy position answers his assault with a wall of firepower. I watch mesmerized as the lone Spartan all but dances around the majority of the incoming shots, the few that do manage to hit her bouncing harmlessly off the brilliant golden shielding. She covers the distance in a few heartbeats and I see the grenade pulled and thrown in a fraction of a second. It lands perfectly in the gap where the machinegun's shield meets the ceiling and detonates.

The entire enemy position is smoked out all at once, the grenade cooking off what armaments the innie's had been hiding behind it. I approach the Spartan as she stands among the ruins of the enemy position.

"Thanks..." I say awkwardly with a smile on my face.

The Spartan looks at me for a few moments, the silver visor of her helmet completely impenetrable. Her reply is quiet, the delicateness of her voice completely mismatched against the terror of her physical appearance. "Spartan 010 - Naomi. I've been assigned to Kilo-Five. Come, we have people to save, and data to recover."


	3. Puppet Strings

The rest of the fighting is significantly easier. The Spartan… Naomi, is a machine. I don’t know what kind of armor they’ve fitted the Spartans with, but by the looks of it you could fire a tank shell at them and they’d keep going. She doesn’t talk much, even in combat. I think she’s said maybe… two words since introducing herself? That was about a dozen bodies back. I’m trying to keep up, cover here where I can but at this point it's just like shooting moa from a dropship. Then it goes wrong.

“Eyes on the final position!” I shout.

I unload a few rounds into one of a group working an industrial welder. They’ve attached the device to the safe room door and are already making progress. The enemy are taking cover behind another heavy barricade and another chokepoint, but this one lacks a heavy machinegun emplacement so I think we’re in the proverbial down-slope of this challenge. Naomi charges past me, with Chance and Viking covering her. I hear one of the innie’s who must be their leader shouting something about a weapon, and then I see him grab something off the floor before charging to the defensive barrier. The weapon looks like a pod of some kind, bright blue and very… alien. No, it can’t be. I raise my weapon, intent on dropping the insurgent before he has a chance to prove me right.

The innie leader grins as my rounds impact a bright blue shield that materializes around him, similar to what Naomi is covered in save for the color. Then he fires. Bright blue bolts of energy rip free, burning the very air around them with heat. I’ve heard the sound before, and his target is the Spartan. The bolts slam into her with aggressive intent, and for a moment it's a light show of gold shielding and blue plasma fire. Then Naomi’s shielding fails. She doesn’t make a sound, but I see the energy bolt impact just below her breastplate. She hits the ground with a thud, one hand moving to her wound.

I abandon my cover and take aim. I charge forwards and depress the trigger of my M7, determined to fire every last round I’ve got at the innie leader. The other insurgents are turning their guns on me, but it's too late. If Naomi’s shields can be broken, so can yours. I see them flicker, then drop, and the wall of my bullets shreds the enemy leader in an instant. I risk a look at the Spartan. She's moving. Her helmet’s unblinking visor is staring at me. I realize my celebration will be brief as I hear Chance shouting at me to take cover. The other innie’s aren’t broken by their leader’s death and the first two rounds of return fire hit my breastplate. The impact puts me on my ass, and another round hits the side of my helmet. The loud bang disorients me and for a moment my HUD is knocked out. This is it. Not a bad death.

A shadow appears, blocking my view. It’s the Spartan, crouched down in front of my position like a bunker, her armor absorbing the punishment of the enemies’ fire.

“Push forwards!” Chance orders, and the others rush to our aid.

One by one the innie’s fall, and then the hallways is quiet. The Spartan rises in front of me and for a moment the image reminds me of the recruitment posters that are responsible for me joining the UNSC in the first place- a lone, battle damaged figure standing amongst total destruction. Naomi wordlessly offers me a hand, and I take it.

“I’ve got the door.” Scratch says, ducking down beside the console.

Wink and Chance have already set up a perimeter, covering the two corridors that lead to the saferoom junction. I grab a nearby pry bar and start the work of getting the welder unit off the door. Weapons fire has damaged it significantly in the battle, and the mag locks that keep it anchored are stuck. “This things are really on there.” I say between pulling with all my might and strained breaths. I have a suspicion that I'm not making any progress when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Let me.” Naomi says.

I clear my throat and nod, then offer her the pry bar. She shakes her head and simply grabs the entire welding unit in a bear hug. Even Scratch stops working for a moment to watch as the Spartan slowly but surely tares the entire four hundred pound welding unit free from the door and tosses it aside.

“Got it.” Scratch says a few seconds later, and the door starts to open.

We all stack up, weapons raised but I quickly see that we were in time. “It's just a bunch of scared eggheads.” I say.

“It's alright, we’re with the UNSC.” Viking says. “ONI.” He corrects a moment later, approaching what looks like the lead scientist and putting his weapon down.

The man looks to be in his late sixties, bald, with a ruddy complexion and worried eyes. “Thank you!” He says, shaking Viking’s free hand. “I knew ONI would come for us.” He’s smiling until he notices the Spartan which catches him off guard. But he still seems grateful.

“Viking, escort the scientists to-”

“Just a moment, Sergeant.” Naomi cuts in, her voice having a surprising amount of strength behind it despite how quiet it sounded. “Doctor Yaric, do you have the data from the latest round of decryption?”

The doctor looks around, and one of the other scientists nods at him. A smaller man, of thin build and with bright blue eyes produces a chip of some kind and hands it to Doctor Yaric who wastes no time in giving it to Naomi. I see her nod, and take the chip, inserting it into the back of her helmet. “You can go.”

“Viking, escort them out for extraction.”

“Yes, Sir. Please, follow me Doctor. The rest of you as well. Stay focused on me and we’ll have you out of here in no time.” Viking ushers them out one by one, and I watch as they disappear down a bend in the corridor.

“This is a covenant plasma rifle.” Wink says. I turn to see her crouched over the dead innie leader, examining him with a probing finger. “And this is a covenant personal shield.”

Naomi walks over to her position and crouches down next to her. She nods.

“Mind telling us what some random insurgent was doing with tech like that?” Wink presses.

“I don’t know.” Naomi confesses. I think she sounds honest, but Wink seems less than convinced. Chance is hovering just behind the pair.

“This isn’t just an insurgent force then, its one armed with covenant weapons and tech. Who knows what they have access to? And why here? Why this facility?” Wink looks at Chance who shrugs.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Scratch asks. “The data.” He indicates to Naomi with a shrug of his weapon.

“Well?” Wink states. “What’s on the chip?”

Naomi doesn’t answer and I’m not sure if its because she doesn’t know, or can’t say.

“It doesn’t matter why they hit this place, that isn’t for us to find out.” Chance cuts in. “What does matter is how these innies got their hands on covey tech. Obviously they’re shipping it in from off world, right?”

Wink and I both nod in agreement.

“So-- scavengers. They get the rifles off the field, and then bring ‘em here and arm up the insurgent cells.” Chance walks through his reasoning as he paces the corridor.

“Probably more likely to be raided from UNSC shipments.” Wink suggests. “Remember Harvest? They were always collecting covey equipment and boxing it up as soon as they could, carting it off to research facilities and the like. Maybe the innies hit one of the ships, or a convoy.”

“I have been analyzing the identities of the insurgent fighters.” Naomi says. “An abnormally large amount are employed at the same shipping depot located in Pálháza.”

No one says anything for a moment. It's Chance who breaks the silence. “Then that's our next stop.”

“I agree, Sergeant. I have already ordered a Pelican to meet us outside.” I see Naomi grab the plasma rifle and mag lock the weapon to her thigh. Then she’s walking down the corridor towards the exit. Wink stands up and gives Chance a look. He shrugs and turns to follow the Spartan.

“Move out, Kilo-Five.” He says. “Viking, get the civvies prepped for extraction, and then get ready yourself. We’re going to Pálháza.”

“Pelican is already here, Sir.” He radios back.

***

I sit across from Wink on the Pelican. I notice Kilo-Five has gathered together near the back of the Pelican’s transport bay, but Naomi has chosen to sit away from us near the bay door. Maybe I should sit by her.

“Ginger!” Wink repeats.

“Hu?” I say, having not been listening.

“What the hell were you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Whats up?”

“What do YOU think is on that chip?”

I pause, having not really thought about it before.

Scratch cuts in. “I’m telling you, its enemy movement reports. That place must have been some kinda deep listening post or something.” He nods at his own suggestion.

Viking shakes his head. “That's stupid. Why would the innies give a shit about covey movement reports?”

“Maybe… maybe that's how they locate where to get the covey tech, hu? Did you think of that?”

Viking snorts. “There are easier ways to locate old battlefields than to assault a fucking ONI secret base. Give me a break.”

“He’s got you there.” Wink agrees.

“I think its about her.” I say, pointing at Naomi’s back.

“What?” Wink replies.

“The Spartans. Think about it. Halsey said Doctor Amari was a colleague of hers, right? And she just so happens to have access to an entire Spartan fireteam, and Naomi, AND she referred to them as ‘My Spartans.’ The Spartans just appeared out of nowhere and they’re basically a myth as well as the only thing keeping us from getting spaced by the Covenant. If the innies want to hurt the UNSC where it matters? They hurt the Spartans.”

No one says anything and I surprise myself with how valid my theory sounds even spoken aloud. 

“The Insurgents didn’t attack the facility because of the data.” Naomi answers. “The facility is the production center for a new weapon. A new type of spacecraft code-named ‘Saber.’ The data is related to technology incorporated into the ship’s design. Technology that Doctor Halsey developed based on her findings at Sword.”

“You mean based on that giant alien ship under the ice?” Scratch adds.

“Yes.” Naomi nods. “The Insurgents were hoping to damage the spacecraft and set back the program. Years of progress might have been lost.”

“You see?” Chance finally joins the conversation. “Not everything is a giant conspiracy theory, Wink.”

Wink huffs.

The rest of the flight goes by in relative silence. I spend most of it trying to get some sleep. Viking, Scratch, and Wink passed out half an hour ago. They’ve always been good soldiers, able to sleep anywhere. I envy them for that. Chance is still awake, but he’s crouched over his data pad like a bird of prey. He's probably looking at blueprints, plans, and combat reports. He’s a good Sergeant, one of the best. Always well informed and prepared for any eventuality. I realize how lucky I am to have been assigned to his fireteam, especially when you consider the mortality of ODST is so high. I look over and see Naomi is still sitting at the other end of the ship. She hasn’t moved an inch since we took off. I wonder what she’s thinking about.

“Two minutes till we reach the AO, Kilo-Five.” interrupts the pilot.

I see Chance perk his head up then grab his helmet. He pulls it back on and stands. “Wakey, wakey, children! Time to work.” He patrols up the Pelican, kicking the rest of the team in the boots to jostle them awake. There are a lot of groans and complaints, but it's mostly for show. The entire team is alert and ready. I pull my helmet back on with the rest of the team and suddenly the sound of the engines are muted. We move to the back of the Pelican where Naomi is positioned, and prepare to move out.

Below me are the streets of Pálháza. It's a smaller city, but it's still a city of a few hundred thousand. The streets are clean and well lit, with the buildings being sleek, angular and mostly made of glass and bright metals that reflect the afternoon sun. To the Southwest is the ocean, big, blue, and beautiful. It's a coastal escape, and a great vacation spot if you can afford it.

The Pelican dips and soon we’re setting down in the spaceport. As I see the ground come into view I step off onto the deck with the rest of Kilo-Five. Around us are dozens of workers all milling around, surprised by the military arrival. Most of them seem to be getting ready to leave work, and I check the chronometer on my HUD. Its almost five o'clock. The sun is setting and most of the people are getting ready to head back to their families.

“Alright, lets spread out and get this done.” Chance orders.

“Sir, we should start with finding the shipping manager. We’ll be able to get manifests of anything strange that's come through the starport lately.” Wink suggests.

Chance nods. “Good call. You and me. The rest of you secure the landing zone. Look around, see if you can find anything strange.” I watch Chance and Wink jog off towards the control tower in the center of the starport.

“Like any glowing lights?” Viking laughs. Chance doesn’t respond.

“James…” I look to see Naomi waving me over. I don’t think I’ve heard her use my name before. “We should investigate the loading bay. If the weapons are already in insurgent hands then we’re looking for another shipment, one more recent.”

I nod. “Alright.” It's a good assessment. I look over my shoulder and see Viking and Scratch speaking with a forklift driving who looks equal parts exhausted and terrified.

It doesn't take long to track down the loading bay. Its a large warehouse with all the incoming shipments organised by date of receipt. Crates and shipping containers are stacked in large, intimidating rows. There are hundreds of crates, maybe even thousands, and this is just the recent stuff. I can’t imagine we’re going to have much luck without more direction form Chance and Wink, but I’ve yet to hear anything.

“How are we supposed to find anything in this?” I ask Naomi.

“My helmet has a built in scanning suite. I’ll be able to see anything covenant.”

“Whoever made your armor sure didn’t skip on the cost.” I comment, but she doesn’t respond.

I spend the next ten thirty minutes following the Spartan around, looking over crates and reading packing slips. Firebase Epsilon, Harvest… property of the UNSC.

“That's strange.” I comment and Naomi turns.

“What?”

“All these boxes here say they came from Firebase Epsilon on Harvest…”

Naomi walks over and looks at one of the boxes.

“But Epsilon was glassed… I was there.” I finish.

She wastes no time in grabbing hold of the heavy crate which looks large enough to fit an entire Mongoose and yanks it free from the rack. She removes her rifle and bashes at the lock. It only takes two hits before the lock falls away in a mangled mess. I move to assist, realizing the aid is more gesture than actual help, and together we left the lid free.

“Bingo.” I say.

Inside is an entire covenant weapons pod and with a bit of fiddling from Naomi the lid retracts, revealing rows of fresh, clean, functional plasma rifles. I take a closer look, leaning forwards as Naomi moves to another crate and starts pulling it down as well. There aren't just rifles here… there's grenades and explosive charges as well. It's a veritable arsenal of covenant firepower. Naomi is bashing open another and I move to her position just as she removes the lid. It's the same.

“Sergeant, come in, its Ginger.”

“Send it.”

“Sergeant we found weapons. Come to loading bay B-11. Me and Naomi are here.”

Container after container its the same story, till we’re all gathered around five opened crates, each filled with two covenant weapons pods each.

“Jesus…” Wink breaths.. “It’s enough for a damn army.”

“I’m calling it in.” Chance states.

“We need to get back to Sword.” Naomi says.

Scratch pulls one of the plasma rifles from its position, the weapon transforming into firing configuration in his hands. Wink moves over to examine the weapon.

“Look at this thing. Its brand spankin’ new. Doesn’t look like it seen a day of combat.” She declares, before retrieving a weapon from the crate herself and looking it over.

“ONI is on the way. Wink, stop messing around. You have the shipping manifest, where are we going?”

“Yes, Sir. I need the shipping number.” Wink quickly tosses the weapon back in the crate before pulling something up on the data pad mounted to her wrist.

“Romeo Charlie dash Papa Alpha. Five six two, then niner dash three four two.” Chance recites the numbers from the shipping label on the side of the nearest crate.

“Romeo Charlie dash Papa Alpha. Five six two, niner dash three four two.” Wink reads back.

“Confirm.”

I look at Naomi who is still staring at one of the covenant weapons pods. The helmet’s blank expression is completely inscrutable. I wish I could see her face. I wonder if she looks like Frederic…

“Got it. They were dropped off two days ago by a cargo ship tagged ST534 ‘Another Try.’ Nice name. Registered to a Anthony Colbert.” Wink scrolls through some additional information on her wrist. “We’re in luck. The ship is currently docked for engine maintenance at New Alexandria spaceport.”

“Then we have our next target. Kilo-Five, get on deck and into that Pelican. We’re moving out.”

I shoulder my weapon and start walking when Naomi puts a hand on my shoulder.

“We need to go to Sword.” She states.

I look between her and Chance.

“What?” He says, but she doesn’t reply. “We have evidence there is an insurgent coup being stages here, miss. I don’t know if you missed that but this is enough ordinance to blow a hole in most of the city. The more time we waste-”

“I’m not suggesting, Sergeant, I’m ordering you. Kilo-Five is deploying to Sword.”

Chance looks at me, then to the others. I can tell he’s confused. I don’t blame him, so am I.

“I don’t take orders from you.” He answered.

“Sir, perhaps we should just check in…” I start to say.

“You’re mistaken, Sergeant. I wasn’t attached to Kilo-Five as a one-off ride along. I’m your new CO. We’re going to Sword. That's an order.”

The air is suddenly tense. “You’re ordering me to ignore a known threat, and risk innocent lives... Why?”

“I am, but I can’t tell you why. Not yet.” Naomi’s voice was gentle, as always, but there was a firm and lethal edge there that reminded me of what she was. A soldier like no other. A titan among us.

“Kilo-Five…” Chance stated, and I can see Scratch tighten his grip on his shotgun. “Get prepped to leave. We’re going to Sword.”

I let out a sigh of relief, and everyone relaxes. On my helmet’s HUD Naomi’s icon blinks as she opens a private channel between the two of us.

“Thank you.” Is all she says before the channel is cut.

***

The flight back to Sword is tense, and awkward. Naomi has resumed her position at the front of the Pelican, separate from the group. Viking and Scratch have gone to sleep while Wink seems content to stare at the back of Naomi’s head. Chance hasn’t said anything, and is just looking at the floor. It's been a long day, and three ops in one deployment this close together is pretty abnormal, even for ODST. I tell myself we’re all just exhausted. It's been a lot to take on. A lot of information, and a lot of it bad. I look at Naomi and think about her being the new CO. We join ONI and not even a day later command of the squad is given over. You shouldn’t be surprised. I know… Why would ONI not give us a handler? We’re brand new, and Halsey clearly has an interest in our success. And it's a Spartan, maybe we should be honored? I close my eyes and try and relax. The flight is a few hours and it passes. Slowly.

Once we land at Sword Frederic, or Spear One, is waiting for us. He greets Naomi with a strangely cold formality. I wonder if that's normal. For some reason that's not how I expected the two Spartans to get along. Kilo-Five, the non-Spartan part of it anyway, is ordered to get some rest and relaxation. We’re assigned individual quarters inside the base itself and soon we’re being escorted by on-site ONI security. I see Naomi being led away with Spear One, and I imagine she’s going to be delivering her report directly to Halsey.

After being taken to my quarters I step in, shut the door and then, just like that I’m alone. I look around the provided room and I’m… impressed. This certainly wasn’t intended to house a bunch of military troopers. Soft furnishings, a personal computer built into the desk. Entertainment. A beautiful view of an interior courtyard. It even has its own kitchenette. I remove my helmet and toss it on the bed before moving to cabinets below the microwave. I’m starving. It’ll be nice to get something in my that isn't an MRE. There is a box of some kind of sweet sponge cake with creme filling that looks tempting...

There is a knock at the door and I curse under my breath. I grab one of the cakes and stuff half of it into my mouth, letting the other half stick out like a malformed cigar. I jog over to the door and thumb the open button. Wink is staring back at me, her rich green eyes full of serious contemplation.

“You alone?” She asks.

I look around and laugh with a mouthful of cake. “Who else would be here?”

She shrugs and motions for me to follow. “We’re all in Chance’s room, come on.”

I frown and let out a sigh, chewing through the rest of my cake. I follow her down the hall to where Chance’s room is. Wink opens the door and I see the inside is exactly the same as my room. Viking is laying on the bed tossing a ball into the air repeatedly, he stops and gives me a half wave.

“I was about to eat.” I protest.

“Don’t you worry about that, my good fellow.” Scratch says in a mocking, high class Harvest accent. “I’m preparing the finest stew.”

I look over and see him stooped over a large broth pot he’s set up on the stove. He grins at me and gives me a nod of greeting which I return.

Wink wastes no time in finding a chair. She plops down with a sigh of relief at being able to be off her feet for the first time since Kilo-Five was deployed. I look up and see Chance standing by the window. He turns and gives me a professional nod of greeting.

“Ginger.” he says.

“Sir.” I acknowledge, and then shut the door behind me before taking a seat across from Wink.

“Well let's get started…” Chance states.

“With what?” I ask.

“With what we’re going to do.” Wink interjects, giving me a ‘what's the matter with you’ kind of expression.

I frown. “So we’re not waiting for orders?”

Chance sighs. “I don’t know, are we?”

I look around at the others. Viking shrugs and tosses the ball again.

“Are we comfortable sitting on our asses in luxury with some lunatic arming a bunch of other lunatics with high powered alien weaponry?” Chance adds.

“No.” Wink answers.

“No, obviously not, Sarg but... “ I try to think carefully about what to say.

“But what?” Wink asks.

“We’ve been going non-stop since we landed. We’re tired. Maybe taking a minute to catch our breath isn’t a bad thing. Maybe we’re not seeing the whole picture. I’m sure Naomi wants to stop the innies just as bad as we do. Don’t forget, we wouldn't even have been able to get to those scientists in time if it hadn't been for her.”

“I’m not so sure…” Wink protests.

“What is it with you guys? We all voted the same way, to join up with ONI because we didn’t like having our heads in the dark, and then now that we’re here what? You want to go back to the UNSC?” I realise my voice is more angry than I wanted it to be. I’m frustrated. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like that.” I add.

Wink frowns, but her eyes show understanding. She nods.

“No harm.” Chance says. “And you’re right.”

“He’s right, to a point. But aren't we just as in the dark as we were before? But now we’re just confused, and being told to ignore a target we know for a fact is a threat. The ODST never gave us a target and then told us to ignore it…” Wink vents her frustrations, punctuating her point by throwing her hands up in the air as if giving up.

I don’t have much of a counterpoint. This does feel confusing. Feels like I’ve got half a picture and all the faces have been cut out. We’re missing something, and I know if Naomi was here she’d be able to fill us in.

“Stew is ready.” Scratch exclaims.

Viking grunts, pushing himself from the bed and joining me and Wink at the table. Chance grabs some bowls and passes them around. Scratch follows him, filling each with a thick broth stew. I grab my spoon and swirl the food around in the bowl before taking a bite.

“What's in it?” I ask.

Scratch grins. “Edibles.”

Viking laughs, and Wink smiles. I examine a spoonful of the stuff and determine that one of the chunks resembles some kind of meat protein. I chuckle and simply down another spoonful. It's good, taste of chicken and various local vegetables. A little salty, but good. We all eat quietly for the next half hour, everyone having their own thoughts about the previous conversation. Chance looks a little less stressed now though, and that makes me feel better. Wink is still Wink, and she’s always been hard to read.

After everyone’s had second, and third bowls things stay calm. Chance is talking with Wink, but the conversation has a lighter tone to it judging by their facial expressions. Scratch and Viking have both moved to the bed and passed out next to each other. I yawn, fold my arms across my chest and close my eyes. A nap will do me good.


	4. The Weight of Knowledge

I’m standing on the edge of a precipice, a platform in the center of a vast, circular room. I’m back on Harvest. Outside I can hear the war waging, the sound of Epsilon heaving its last dying breath before it ultimately falls to the onslaught of covenant forces. The fight isn’t over. I think, and stagger down a long hallway and out onto the defensive platform. Above me the barrel of an M71 anti air emplacement is smoking, its computer still rotating to track the dozens of enemy aerial targets. But it's ammo storage has long since run dry. I look around and see that the walls have already been breached. It's the final moments of Harvest now. In the distance an enemy cruiser hovers in the upper atmosphere, and then the terrible red beam erupts from its hull. The enemy weapon smashes into the surface of Harvest, turning everything it touches to glass. Hot air washes across the plains, crashing over me like a rogue tsunami. My skin burns from the heat. I can’t speak, I can barely think. I hear the screams of those around me as the radiation starts to cook us alive. They never meant to take us to survive, never meant to accept a surrender. They’re here to exterminate us. I look up and see a lone Pelican. Its bay doors are open and with perfect clarity I see a squad of ODST watching me. Watching as my armor melts, as my skin sloths off, and as everything I am turns to glass. As I die they escape, and I feel betrayed. A wave of sorrow I cannot outrun.

“Ginger!” Someone shouts and my eyes flutter open. I groan with displeasure. I’m soaked in sweat and my heart is racing. Its takes me a few seconds to grasp where I am, then I look to see Viking standing over me. He gives me a sympathetic smile and nods. “It's time to go.” He says.

I clear my throat, nod, and push myself up out of the chair. “Where to?”

“You missed it - a call came in from the Spartan about ten minutes ago. We’re going to Alexandria. Here.” He says, handing me my helmet. “I got your can.”

I thank him, and pull the helmet on before following him out of the room.

“The others are already on the deck.” He explains.

After a short jog we’re bag in the staging area of Sword base. I see Naomi and Chance having a conversation in front of a Pelican, its engines in idle and prepared to take off. When they see me and Viking approach Chance gives her a nod and Naomi climbs into the back of the Pelican.

“Nice of you to join us sleeping beauty.” Chance remarks.

“Sorry, Sir. Had a fight on Harvest.”

“I figured.” He replies. “We’re going to New Alexandria to track down our friend Mr. Colbert. Track down those weapons and rip this insurgency out by the roots. You ready for this?”

“Always.”

“Then let's get moving.” He says, climbing into the Pelican and offering me a hand. I take it, and move to sit down. I realise my normal position is taken by Naomi, whose silver visor is staring at me. I shrug and sit down beside her. It's good to see her with the squad. Maybe this will put the others at ease?

“Pilot, we’re all in! Let's get this train moving!” Chance says, taking his seat. He leans over and pulls up his data pad. “Sync up. We’re zero five hundred and twenty hours.”

I check my chronometer. Its had about two seconds of drift which I correct. “Set.” I reply. The others follow suit.

Chance continues. “The Spaceport is only about a thirty minute flight from Sword, so we’ll be there shortly. Don’t get comfy.”

I nod, check my equipment over, and set the M7 on my lap. The Pelican starts to take off and I feel the pressure of lift momentarily glue me to my seat. Then with a roar of the twin engines the dropship is off, cruising over the temperate climate at speed. I look at the back and watch as the intricate canyons and grassy, sub saharan vistas go passing by. Sword is further inland than the coast, and the climate reflects that. I had to admit I’d rather fight here than on the coast. Its flatter, and as a result safer from sniper fire. Then again it's harder to get arial support when you’re in a bunch of inter-connected canyons. But I can't deny the view is better on the coast. The green, the stanley twisted trees eaking out an existence on the side of great mountains. The ocean. Reach always has had a beautiful ocean. I’ve been told its because the water here is higher in oxygen and so it changes the color. I’m honestly not sure if its true or not. By the time I’m fully woken up we’re fifteen minutes into the flight and I’m already restless to get on the ground.

“Kilo-Five, I have something to tell you.” Naomi states.

The rest of the team, myself included, perk up from our individual thoughts and musings and stare at the Spartan.

“Spartan One Zero Four has advised I not speak to you about this, but I do not agree with his assessment.” She looks sideways at me and I suddenly feel very small. Her gaze quickly passes though as she addresses the group as a whole.

“Colbert is not our target. We need the black box from his ship.”

“What?” Wink cut in. “Why? He’s a traitor, an innie.”

“That is true, but the innie’s are not the true threat. The weapons we found were newly manufactured, and the crates they were in were shielded against my scans. Without Ginger’s keen eyes we wouldn't have even found them. They are being supplies.”

“Supplies by who? The Covenant?” Viking gaufs at the mere suggestion. “The Covenant don’t work with humans. They’re savages.”

“Most of the Covenant feel similarly about us.” Naomi’s voice is calm, soft, and totally factual. “It is clear this is a sabotage campaign. They are using the remains of insurgent cells to weaken key installations across Reach. That explains the targets selected, the manner of the attacks, and the weapons and explosives used to gain entry. Your team- Our team, is not the only one deployed on these types of missions. I admit, this is a new tactic we’ve not encountered before, but the Covenant are not stupid. They have brilliant commanders and not all are as fanatical as their common soldiery. They see value, and they’ll exploit it the same as us.”

The squad stays quiet for a moment, absorbing everything. Suddenly my dream comes flooding back into my mind. Harvest. The Covenant; the old enemy the UNSC has been fighting for two decades now.

“But the Covenant are almost defeated.” I say with a supreme lack of confidence. “They lost most of their fleet, and the victory on Harvest at least…”

“The victory on Harvest was greatly exaggerated by the Department of Information. It was a narrow victory. Barely even that. The enemy fleet has recovered and they’re preparing.”

“Preparing for what?” Scratch asks.

“Invasion…” Chance adds.

I look at the Spartan but she doesn’t respond. The realisation fills my stomach like a lead weight.

“They’ve been weakening what they can ahead of an invasion force. It's exactly what they did on Harvest, remember?” Chance looks at each of us then back at Naomi. “So that's why you weren't in any rush to secure Colbert, isn’t it? You needed to report to Doctor Halsey that the Covenant are on their way here.”

She nods. I don’t know what the rest of Kilo-Five is feeling. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I’ve been wanting to get back to fighting the Covenant ever since we were evacuated from Harvest. Watching those people die as Kilo-Five escaped on a Pelican… The shame I felt then. But by God we were beaten. Even when the reports came through that Harvest had been classified a victory by the UNSC, Covenant casualties ‘far outmatched even the most favorable projects’ I don’t think I really believed it. A chill crawls up my spine at the thought of facing that destruction again. Can I survive a second time?

“So what do we do?” Wink asks, directing the question to Chance.

Chance stays quiet for a long moment, but eventually he looks at Naomi. She’s sitting as still as ever, perfect in her dark blue armor with the expressionless silver visor staring right back.

“We secure Colbert’s ship, ‘Another Try.’ Take the black box and run it through analysis. We find out where the Covenant are meeting the Insurgent force, locate their forward base of operations here on Reach, and eliminate the threat.”

“That simple, hu?” Wink muses.

“Sergeant.” Naomi starts. “I am not a leader. I never have been. I am a tactician. I am a Spartan, but I have never been… good… at leading.” There is an awkward pause where no one knows what to say. “You have a good team here. I read all your files. You work together well and I do not want this to stop. If you can trust me to choose the right missions, I would trust you to lead Kilo-Five.”

Chance straightens his posture slightly, he glances at the rest of Kilo-Five then clears his throat. “I’m sorry for how the team acted. Ma’am I would be happy to continue doing my job, and if its under your command I’ll be honored to serve alongside a Spartan. You point, we shoot.” Chance brings his hand to his helmet in a crisp, professional salute. I match his gesture, as does the rest of the team.

“Welcome to Kilo-Five!” Viking says with a chuckle. “Now… Have you ever wondered why Vikings make such good sailors?”

***

It started to rain about halfway through the flight to New Alexandria, and now as I look out the rear of the Pelican it looks more like a monsoon than a thunderstorm. The onboard targeting computer inside my helmet will prevent it from being too much of a bother, but the sound is really what concerns me. The ODST combat suite has an audio scrubber as well since there is no sense in everyone in the squad going deaf from friendly artillery fire behind enemy lines. Its main function is to mute or diminish extraneous noises. Some kind of smart program that's supposed to match audio profiles or something. A side effect of this “smart program” is that in heavy rain the scrubber can get confused and start muting sounds it shouldn't. Makes for poor situational awareness. I decide turning it off would be the best approach and suddenly the engines of the Pelican become the dominant feature of the soundscape.

“Sergeant, I’ve made contact with Alexandira’s superintendent and made it aware of the mission. We’ve got full clearance to approach the spaceport. You want the bird grounded?” Wink questioned.

Most of the larger cities across UNSC space have an AI installation that runs services, they have names but typically we just call them the “superintendent. They run stuff like water, power, sewage, traffic. Almost everything. Provides data, statistic calculations, risk assessment. Alert emergency services as well, and relay orders. Almost every founding city on a UNSC comes equipped with some kind of AI, though some are more advanced than others. It's a great resource but expensive for the UNSC to employ. New Alexandria is one of a handful of cities on Reach with one.

“Confirm. Keep her on the ground, but don’t inform them unless they try to take off. Have local security ready to move in to secure the area in case things get ugly.”

“Roger that.” Wink said and went back to her Data pad, relaying the orders.

“James.” Despite its softness Naomi’s voice cuts through the rain and I turn to look at the Spartan. “I read your file.”

I double check the channel and see that Naomi has chosen to keep the like private between the two of us. “Of course.”

“Most of it is secured under ONI’s Tier One clearance.”

I shrug.

“My file is also Tier One.”

“All Spartans are.” I add.

She nods. “What did you do before you joined Kilo-Five?”

I am surprised by the question. Not surprised she wanted to ask, but surprised she would ask. “You know I can’t answer that. Besides- if you really wanted to know I’m sure you of all people could clear it through Highcom?”

Naomi stays quiet for a moment. “I could but I wanted to ask you first.”

Before I can say anything there is a loud thud and I realize the Pelican has landed on the deck. Naomi has already risen from her seat, and I scramble to catch up as the squad deploys. On the tarmac are dozens, if not hundreds of cargo ships of various model and make parked in neat, organized rows. At the main terminal some three harden yards off large B-Class cruiser is preparing to take off, each of its four engines the size of our entire dropship.

“Viking, you got the nav?” Chance asks.

“Roger that Sir, the ship is this way.”

It doesn’t take long to reach our destination and soon we’re crouched under the wing strut of the neighboring aircraft observing our target. The ‘Another Try’ is an older model “Seagull” class cargo ship made by the CAA. Its a standard ‘H’ construction, named so because… well it looks like an H. Two long pods attached to a center strut contain all of the cargo, with a center strut being the foundation for most of the ship itself, including crew quarters, captains quarters, pilot and nav suites… Everything you need to fly inter-system supply runs. This particular model was popular about a decade ago for its modularity as the cargo pods themselves could be designed around the ship’s particular purpose, be it raw goods, heavy machinery, deep space mining, or even passenger transportation.

“He’s registered for the typical five man crew.” Wink adds. “I’m sending through their files now. According to reports the crew and the Captain haven’t left the spaceport so its likely they’re still onboard.”

“Then they’re waiting for their contact, or they've been waiting for new orders.” Viking adds.

“Good guess.” Chance nods. “Pretty soon it won’t matter which. We hit the rear door, open her up, and secure. Remember; these are probably innie’s but if they show you hands we put them on the floor and secure them. The more left for questioning the better. Scratch, you’re on point - move out!”

“Roger.” Scratch says and pumps the action on his shotgun before taking off into the rain towards the target.

The rest of us follow in short order, Wink and myself taking up the rear. Once at the aircraft it takes no time at all for Naomi’s armor to hack through the civilian grade description, and the cargo door goes green and then opens. First the hissing of the hermetic seals and then it lowers. Inside is darkness, the ship clearly in standby mode to conserve power. I switch over to night vision and see the boxes, same as the ones we found before, covered with cargo netting. I give a rough count and there are over twenty just in this container.

“Are these…?” I ask.

“Shielded, yes.” Naomi confirms.

“Proceed on a two-one-six. Keep it tight people.” Chance says, pushing past the cargo bay and towards the center door that leads to the interior of the ship.

That's when I hear it, the tell-tale sound of heavy work boots on metal flooring. Two, maybe three contacts and rushing around the interior of the ship. “Movement inside.” I radio.

“Stack up to breach.” Chance orders.

I hit the door with Viking, and both of us raise our weapons, ready for the worst. With a press of the button the door to the interior opens and I’m first through, ducking low and pushing forwards. We’re in the center of the ‘H’ now, a long corridor with rooms on either side of which there are six in total. At the end of the hallway is a stairwell upwards that leads to the cockpit. Out target. Its dark, and my NV’s pick up the glimmer of a light reflecting off the barrel of a gun.

“Con-” I shout, but a fraction of a second too late.

The shotgun goes off and I hear it impact Viking behind me.

“Viking’s hit!” Scratch roars, taking his place and firing down the hallway.

I’m already returning firing, but the hallway corridor is a lightshow of muzzle flashes as the crew return fire. They’re firing blind in the dark, but the volume of what they’re throwing inside the tight space means accuracy hardly matters. A round impacts my leg, then another one of my chest. I focus on dropping the first target who has the shotgun, crouched low in one of the doorways. My first shot hits him in the shoulder, and he cries out in pain. He falls forward, exposing him to the three follow up shots I put center mass until he’s still.

Scratch marches forwards, taking point and dropping another insurgent to the left with a blast from his shotgun. I can see bullets bouncing off his armor and helmets, and suddenly I’m damn thankful for this new ballistic weave. I push up, taking cover in the doorway I had just cleared. There are three more targets to deal with and I get ready to toss a frag when Naomi’s voice cuts across the coms.

“No explosives, we can’t risk setting off the cargo or damaging the flight computer. I’ve got the center.”

As soon as she’s finished talking I see the Spartan push down the corridor with Chance in tow. Her armor and shield is more than a match for the innie’s assault and I hear the angry bark of her assault rifle as she drops the remaining three insurgents one after the other. I’m just about to break cover when a blinding green light erupts from the cockpit stairwell.

I cry out in pain with most of the squad as my NVs try to compensate for the intensity of the blast, only to see the projective miss Naomi’s head by mere inches. It hits the side of the ship and ricochets before expanding in size mid-flight. The now primed mass of energy rockets through the door we’d arrived by and slams into one of the equipment crates. The resulting explosion is all encompassing. I try to grab my ears reflexively, dropping my M7 as the rear cargo bay erupts into fire. I’m thrown back into one of the recently deceased crewmember’s cabins, hitting the floor hard with my helmet cracking against the bed frame. Emergency lights have already come on, bathing the interior with bright red light. Then I feel the floor drop out from under me as part of the ship collapses. It slams down onto the tarmac with one final, bone-jarring jolt.

I struggle to my feet, joints aching and head pounding. I groan then turn the noise filtering function of my helmet back on. The shipboard alarm is ringing and I look up to see the FSS kick on, spraying the interior, myself included, with a gel-based fire retardant.

“Sounds off!” Chance orders through the chaos.

“Ginger, I’m alright.” I reply.

“Wink - I’m fine.”

“Vikings up.”

“Naomi in pursuit of target.”

“Scratch?” Chance shouts. “Scratch, report position!”

I stumble from the cabin to see Scratch laying on the floor, apparently unconscious, a nearby pipe having split from the ceiling and colliding with his helmet. “I found Scratch, he’s in the hallways.” I report. I crouch next to him and look at his data pad to confirm he’s still breathing. His system report shows a compromised seal, but everything else is green.

Chance appears next to me, grabbing me by the shoulder. “Get the black box! I’ll get Scratch out of here. Be fucking quick, we don’t know if the rest of those crates are going to go off!” With that he shoves me towards the cockpit.

I jog past Wink and Viking who are already moving to help Chance drag Scratch from the wreckage of the ‘Another Try.’ Up the stairs and into the cockpit I get my first sight of the control console. Its a wreck, and looks to have been sabotaged by whoever fired the fuel rod cannon and took off. I hope Naomi gets that bastard. I duck down and under the console I can see the flight recorder behind a mess of wires. I hastily grab a bunch and start yanking. Finally I get a hold of the box and pull, but it doesn’t move. “Are you kidding me!?” I shout angrily. “The fucking box is stuck!” I radio Chance.

“Then UN-stick it, Ginger! Hurry the hell up!”

“Roger that.” I reply, standing up and planting several kicks into the top-side of the console. The metal squeals in protest, gages and sensitive electronics crack and fall apart under my assault. Soon enough though the corner of the control console bends down, the screws holding it together finally snapping. Panting I reach down and grab the corner, pulling away the top layer of the console and reaching inside. From this angle I feel my fingers wrap around the flight recorder’s handle and when I yank, it comes free.

A second explosion rips through the ship as more of the crates detonate. I’m thrown forward into the console, which hurts like hell, and my helmet is once again brutalized as I smash into the cockpit glass. Luckily nothing seems broken yet. I stumble down the stairwell and through the corridor which is now under threat of being engulfed by plasma-fuel fire. The entire rear of the ship has been reduced to a pile of scrap, and I all by stroll out of a warthog-sized hole now present there.

Chance and the rest of the squad have drug Scratch some thirty yards away and EMS are finally arriving on scene. I walk over, drop to my knees, and take a moment to catch my breath. Scratch is already sitting up, having been coaxed from his unconscious state moments before, but he’s groggy as hell and probably has a bad concussion.

“Viking, how's your helmet?” Wink asks.

“Intact. I nearly shit myself.” He admits.

“I thought you were a goner.” Wink confesses.

“Too bad, so sad.” He jokes back.

“Naomi, report position.” Chance says over the radio but receives no reply.

An ambulance pulls up next to us and two men dressed in white and blue hop out then rush to our position. Chance directs them to Scratch and they start going over his vitals, slowly walking him to the back of the ambulance a few moments later.

“Naomi, report position.” Chance repeats. Again nothing. “You two, go look for our Spartan.” Chance points towards me and Wink, and we both nod.

“Yes, Sir.” Wink says. “Come on, we’ll take one of the security Warthogs, she can’t have gotten far.”

***

“I’ve got her transponder,” Wink says as she shifts the Warthog into third gear. “She’s at the South end of the airfield.”

“Then step on it.” I reply, and shift myself up in my seat so I can aim my weapon ahead of where we’re going. The rain is still coming down hard so visibility is difficult but soon enough I see a hole in the perimeter fence.

“There!” I say, pointing to the breach.

“I see it.” Wink replies. “Looks like someone crashed right through.

As we draw closer what we see makes my heart drop. Naomi is laying on the ground in a crumpled pile right at the entrance of the breach.

“There she is!” I cry out.

Wink doesn’t reply, and I figure she’s already seen the Spartan. We pull up a few seconds later, heavy wheel squeaking against wet concrete. I bail instantly, almost losing my footing as I do so and then rush to Naomi’s position.

“She’s hit.” I radio as I notice the small pool of rich, red blood under Naomi’s position. I look around and see that Wink is still with the Warthog, set up to cover my approach. I suddenly realize how reckless I was and curse under my breath. What if they had been waiting for you?

“Chance, this is Wink, we’ve located Naomi. She’s down. Southern end of the field.”

I grab hold of Naomi’s collar and start to drag, but the Spartan must weigh three hundred pounds or more. She won’t budge. “I can’t move her!”

“Be advised we can’t move her.” Wink adds to the call.

“Roger that, Wink, I’ve got EMS on the way. Hold tight.” Chance radios back.

“What happened?” Wink asks.

I look over Naomi’s armor which is pitted with heavy impacts around the chest. There is a puncture wound in her suit on the right side of her abdomen.

“I’m not sure. Looks like an ambush or something. Heavy rounds. Maybe an armed warthog? Would explain the hole in the fence.” I remove a canister of biofoam and shove the applicator nozzle into the breach of Naomi’s suit. Just as I’m about to crack the seal her hand comes to my wrist.

“I’m alright.” She says. “The suit got overloaded, it's fine now.”

“You’re hit.” I say and crack the seal before she can protest. Immediately the foam floods the suit, plugs the breach and gets to work healing whatever damage was hidden underneath. I hear Naomi laughing.

“I was already starting to heal, Ginger.” She confesses. She wastes no time in turning over and pushing herself up onto her feet. “The target escaped.”

“I figured.” Wink replies.

“Some kind of ambush?” I ask.

“Yes. An insurgent warthog. They must have been close by, and the target radioed them as soon as our assault began.”

“I’ll feed it through to the superintendent. Maybe he’ll have a bead on their progress.”

“Did you retrieve the flight recorder?” Naomi asks.

“Yeah. I’ve got it right here.” I say, detaching the box from my thigh and handing it to her.

“No, I trust you to look after it till we get to a console.”

I think that maybe, just maybe I detect a faint smile in the tone of her voice. “Yes, ma’am.” I reply.

On the drive back we get word from Chance that Scratch is fine, or as fine as can be expected from getting hit in the head. He has a minor concussion the doctor’s gave him some meds for, but he’s alert and aware, in other words fit for duty. It doesn’t take long for us all to be back onboard the Pelican. Naomi tells us we’re heading for the New Alexandria Security Intelligence offices, where they should have the equipment to get a read on the flight recorder. From the back of the Pelican I can see the cargo ship that almost took my left engulfed in multicolored flames.

“Kilo-Five,” a cold and synthetic voice breaks over our comms channel. “I am Alice, the superintendent. I have detected your attacker’s vehicle. It has been abandoned on the Y-A1 exit offramp and is causing a traffic disturbance. I have alerted the authorities converge on the area.”

“Any read on where the occupants are headed?” Chance asks.

“Negative Sergeant. The occupants abandoned the vehicle and then purposefully entered a secondary unknown vehicle outside of my camera coverage. I am currently undergoing statistical analysis of which car in the area is most likely to house our suspects, but the margins are too close for executive action. I will keep you updated.”

“What about the Warthog?” Chance looks at Naomi for a moment, and I think he’s surveying the damage to her armor.

“The Warthog is a UNSC registered vehicle reported missing from New Alexandria outpost ‘Guardian’ two months ago. I have been unable to locate its point of origin.” Alice’s voice cuts off with the unnatural abruptness typical of most AI systems.

“Roger that, keep us informed.”

“I will do so, Sergeant.”

“I hate the idea of letting these fuckers go.” Scratch growls.

“We all do.” Wink adds.

“I apologise,” Naomi starts. “I did understands the extent to which the insurgents were being supplies.”

Vikings snorts. “Not your fault, Naomi. We had no reason to suspect anything was that jacked up. The previous crates just had plasma rifles in ‘em. Who would have guessed that crazy bitch had a fuel rod cannon?”

“Who would have guessed she’d fire it inside the corridor of a spacecraft loaded with explosives. That was just as dangerous for her as it was us!” Wink shakes her head in disbelief.

“Desperation.” Scratch says. “They’re losing, and they know it. We’re dealing with only the most committed, most desperate fighters the insurgency has left. These are the ones who faced with an alien extermination of their species decided allying with the aliens over setting aside their political squabbles was a better idea.” He sighs.

I frown. He’s right, and it was something I think the entire squad already knew in the back of our minds. Over the past two months on Reach our missions had rarely been stand up firefights, but had become increasingly dangerous. The insurgency had always relied on guerrilla tactics, but now they were more like terrorists, bombing whatever targets they could find, be it civilian or otherwise. Anything was game as long as it hurt the UNSC.

The Pelican set down at NASI and we were shown to a nearby terminal moments later. I gave Naomi the flight recorder and she took the lead, plugging it in and sorting through the data as fast as she could, which incidentally was faster than most of us could even keep up with.

“Here.” She says after ten minutes. “Every two weeks they make a stop at this communications outpost. The Visegrád Relay. This must be where they’re meeting their contact.”

“I’ll call it in.” Chance says.

Naomi nods, not moving from the console, still looking at streams of data. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Major Horn, come in this is Kilo-Five, over.”

It takes a few minutes of silence before we get a response, and in that time Naomi wraps up her analysis and disconnects the flight recorder.

“Might as well leave it.” Wink says. “We’ve got what we came for.”

“There might be data on it I missed.” Naomi admits.

Wink nods.

“Kilo-Five, this is Major Horn, what’ve you got?”

“Major, we’ve determined a site of potentially significant insurgent activity. The Visegrád Relay has been a major supply point for our friends. Be aware, the shipment we just uncovered included heavy, anti-armor, and demolition ordinance. Over.”

“Roger that and confirmed, Kilo-Five. Get airborne and wait for further orders from command. Over.”

I grab my stuff and head for the door, Viking and Scratch do the same. I see Naomi wrapping up and falling in behind us while Wink and Chance bring up the rear. Soon enough we’re all back on board the Pelican and anxiously awaiting further orders from Major Horn. Then I start to wonder if we should be reporting to Doctor Halsey instead, or some kind of ONI official representative. Or is that Naomi?

“Hey, shouldn’t we be reporting to Doctor Halsey?” I ask.

Chance pauses and I see his helmet turn to look at Naomi with the rest of the group.

Naomi shakes her head. “No. You all work for ONI but you still report to the UNSC. Doctor Halsey is… uniquely important, but she is not a military officer. She is still a civilian technically.”

“Works for me.” Viking concludes. I agree.

“Kilo-Five come in, this is Colonel Holland, respond.”

“A Colonel?” Wink asks with suspicion in her voice. I exchange looks with Scratch, who shifts in his seat uneasily.

“This is Kilo-Five, reading you loud and clear Colonel, go ahead.”

“Contact with Visegrád Relay was lost five hours ago and the team we sent in to investigate has been no contact for two. They’ve been declared MIA. A Spartan team, callsign Noble has already been dispatched to the area ETA twenty mikes. With the information you’ve provided ONI analysts believe this to be the work of an Insurgent cell Kilo-Five is being ordered to redeploy to Visegrád Relay and rendezvous with Noble, secure the relay, and eliminate the suspected Insurgent threat. Confirm your orders.” Colonel Hollands voice is steady, calm, and authoritative. He has that old-timey speech giving cadance, the kind the UNSC loves to record giving big speeches. He’s an inspiring presence by voice alone.

“Enroute to Visegrád Relay, rendezvous with Noble, and eliminate the threat. Orders confirmed, Colonel. We’ll get it done.”

“Good work with the spaceport, Kilo-Five, keeping those weapons out of Insurgent hands is another victory for the UNSC. Keep it up. Colonel Holland out.”

“Pilot, you get all that?” Chance asks.

“Roger that, we’re preparing for takeoff.”

“An entire Spartan fireteam?” Wink asks.

“Must be a pretty major attack if they’ve taken the whole damn relay offline.” Viking suggests.

“Naomi,” I ask, “Do you know anything about Noble team?”

“Not much. One of my brothers is part of it though, Spartan Zero-Five-Two.”

“I thought he said it was an entire fireteam of Spartans?” Scratch asks.

“From a different program.” Naomi corrects.

“Oh… Like different models of a car then?”

“Partially.” Naomi hesitantly adds.

“With how you fight, I can’t imagine there being more than one of you in the same place.” I chuckle. Viking and Wink join me, nodding in agreement. Naomi doesn’t take part though. She seems hesitant to acknowledge her own skills. The Pelican finally jolts into takeoff and the pilot guns the engines to full. We’re well on our way.


	5. Winter Contingency

I manage to get some sleep on the way to the AO, and my chronometer shows the sun has just crested the horizon when the Pelican rattles with turbulence, waking me up. We are headed back towards the mountains of Reach’s coastline, where the relay is located high on one of the taller peaks. The Visegrád Relay controls most of the UNSC’s communications network for the planet’s Western hemisphere, most importantly of which include the early warning satellites designed to detect slipspace ruptures produced by the Covenant’s cruisers. Essentially without the relay online, the entire UNSC and by extension the planet is blind to invasion. Unless someone looks out a window.

“James.” Naomi cuts across the comms, something I’m getting increasingly used to. I check, just to be sure, and confirm the channel is private between us.

“Yes?”

“I submitted a request to have your file unblacked.” Her voice has a lightness to it I can’t quite place at first… She’s curious, examining me like a puzzle.

“I see.” I pause. I wonder if I should tell her more or if that would only encourage her. “How long will that take?”

She shrugs. “I can’t say.”

“This isn’t my first time working with ONI.” I confess, and memories of black uniforms and late night missions come flooding back. Out of all of Kilo-Five I am more intimately familiar with the Spartan program than any.

“Were you a candidate?” Her voice is soft, and caring. I wonder how the Spartan’s feel about failed candidates. Is there a judgment hidden there? That someone wasn’t strong enough to become a Spartan, that they weren’t good enough?

“No. I wasn’t.” I look at the silver visor of her helmet and imagine the pale-skinned girl underneath it. I am about to elaborate, to confess the realities of my previous post, when the pilot comes over the comms.

“ETA one mike. Get set for drop.”

“Alright, you heard him ladies and gentleman.” Chance stands up from his seat and moves to the back of the Pelican. He yanks the lever down and the door to the dropship slowly opens. “Grab extra ammo. We’re expecting a fight.”

I nod and grab two spare M7 mags from the Pelican’s rack and stuff them into my boot. I see Scratch grab a banderdoil loaded with shotgun shells and throw it over his shoulder. The Pelican comes to a hover about five feet above the ground. The terrain of the mountains is rough, and there are few landing places big enough for a Pelican to fully set down. We’ll have to jump. Naomi is first, and lands with a heavy thud, though the height barely seems to have affected her. Scratch and Viking follow, taking the impact with considerably less grace. I’m next, and hit the ground with a grunt.

“Higher than it looks.” Viking says.

“Yeah…” I agree, raising my gun to my shoulder and checking the area. Chance and Wink follow and give the pilot the all clear.

“Good hunting, Sword-Two out.” The Pelican’s engines increase in power, the backwash buffeting against us. Then he’s off. It's a little past morning and the orange sun of Reach is painting the mountainside gold. Birds are chirping in the air and a moa stares at us from a short distance away, it’s small head and long neck resembling that of an ostrich back on earth.

“Smoke.” Viking says, pointing with his rifle towards a small column of black smoke rising from a shed about a hundred yards forward.  
“When did Noble come through here?” Scratch asks.

“Ten minutes ago.” Chance replies and then gets on the long range comms. “Noble Team this is Kilo-Five, come in.” We wait. “Noble Team this is Kilo-Five, is anybody reading us?” 

“Static.” Wink adds.

Naomi walks forwards, staring at the datapad attached to her wrist. “The entire region appears to be covered by a sophisticated jamming network. I cannot break through. It appears the relay itself is the source.”

“It isn’t crazy that the innies would block comms if they’re attacking the relay.” Wink suggests.

Chance nods. “Alright - combat formation. Stay frosty. Viking, take us to that smoke.”

“Roger that.” He says.

We move down the hillside, skipping over rocks and small outcroppings as we do so. As we grow closer to the compound the source of the smoke becomes clear - a burnt out Warthog, twisted and gnarled by gunfire. It sits abandoned, with a small fire still burning off oil in it’s engine bay.

“Area clear.” Viking reports as we push into a small half circle of storage sheds.

“Well they got hit hard.” I say, examining the plasma scoring on the side of the Warthog. The metal itself is melted and potmarked from the heat of the plasma. There are dozens of impacts across the entire body of the vehicle.

“Found something.” Scratch says, and I watch him pick up some sort of metallic device from the ground.

Naomi walks over and takes the item, looking it over. “Covenant tech.” She confirms. “Some kind of locator beacon.”

“Is it going to locate where the missing troopers are?” Scratch jokes.

“Unlikely.” Naomi replies.

“There's a lot of blood here…” Viking says. “Something tells me they didn’t make it.”

“No bodies though.” I point out. “Maybe just wounded and they moved the body to a safe location to treat?”

Wink raises her rifle, bringing the scope to her visor. “Sergeant, there's a compound further down the hillside. Civilian - looks like a house, probably a farmer’s. They might have our missing troopers, or at the very least saw Noble Team come through the area.”

Chance nods and brings his rifle up, moving away from the Warthog. “Agreed. Nothing more we can do here. Kilo-Five, move out.”

Viking moves past me, heading towards the compound and I fall in behind him. I keep my gun raised and pressed to my shoulder as the team moves further down the mountainside. A flock of moa run past us heading further up into the mountains.

“Damn birds are all over my sensors.” Wink complains.

I move into position alongside Chance at the head of the formation as we close in on the compound’s entrance. An old work truck is parked in front of the garage. Farming equipment is scattered about the interior as we move through into the inner part of the compound itself. I recall reading that most of Reaches’ farmsteads are sent up like this, a circular structure with the house, garage, and storage built around a central courtyard from which all the buildings are accessed. It harks back to a time when Reach was untamed and the farmers were also pioneers who had to worry about the guta and other hostile indigionous creatures. Having a naturally defensible home was a serious advantage. Those days are long since passed, but now it's more of a cultural aesthetic.

“Movement inside the house, dead ahead.” Scratch radios.

“Could be innie’s inside.” Wink remarks.

I take up an overwatch position inside the garage, aiming my M7 at the front door of the home. “Should we breach?” I ask.

“We don’t have time for anything else - get set to breach. We treat them as innie’s until we confirm otherwise.”

Viking and Scratch break cover while the rest of the team overwatch their advance. They take position on either side of the door and the rest of the team follows. I take position right behind Viking on the right side of the door and place my hand on his shoulder.

“Set.” Chance says from behind me and I feel his hand on my shoulder. “Breach.”

I watch Scratch pivot and position himself in front of the door, then place a powerful kick right on the lock. The wood cracks, buckles, and the doors swing open. Viking ducks forwards into the building, weapon at the ready. I’m right behind him, covering the angles he cannot.

“DOWN, DOWN!” Viking bellows as he pushes into the home. “Let me see those hands!”

I see the suspects; two men, one woman, and a child. A family most likely. They’re scared, cowering on the living room floor and holding each other. Wink and Viking have them down on the ground and held at gunpoint in short order while myself and Chance move to the second floor. The farmstead is ascetic, with most of the furniture simple and utilitarian. Where the families of Reach choose to display their culture is in the many rugs and cloth tapestries around the home.  
“Clear.” Chance says, and I take one last scan of the second floor before following him back down to the first.

“Just a bunch of farmers…” Scratch says, lowering his rifle.

“Want me to see what they know?” Viking asks.

“Yeah, ask if they saw Noble Team.” Chance says and we gather around at a respectable distance. I notice Naomi is standing by the door, looking down at her wrist.  
Viking steps forwards, lowering his rifle and removing his helmet. He gives the father a smile and extends his hand. The man seems weary at first but takes his hand and stands.

“Láttál már senkit sétálni itt?” Viking asks.

“Férfiak, mint te?” The man responds, and Viking nods. “Igen. Láttam őket menni keletre a műholdas felé.”

“He says Noble team came through here and went East towards the relay.” Viking looks at chance.

“How long ago?”

“Ez mikor volt?”

“Tiz perc.” The man replies, looking between Chance and Viking. He raises a hand and points out his window towards the relay.

“Ten minutes ago.” Viking gives the man a handshake. I notice what I presume is the wife, and the daughter is calming down, but she’s still holding the child to her chest as though we might take it from her. I frown. Reach has been under attack for a long time, and not just from the insurgency. The scars run deep. Viking and the husband have been talking and he finally nods, concluding the conversation. The man turns back to his family and reassures them that everything is going to be fine, the body language the same no matter the words coming from his mouth.

“He says the farm was attacked last night, and something… or as he says ‘a monster’ killed his son.” Viking frowns with unhidden sympathy.

“Innies?” Wink asks.

Viking shrugs. “I don’t think so. I got the impression it was something… unnatural.”

“Great.” Wink replies and I can almost hear her eyes rolling. “Local supersticion is very actionable intelligence.”

“It isn’t our mission so it doesn’t matter.” Chance cuts in. “Noble headed East, and so that's where we go. Let's get on task.”

Viking nods and pulls his helmet back on. “Maradj biztonságban!” He says to the family before he moves out the front door. I jog after him and soon we’re all standing in the circular courtyard. Off to the East at about three hundred yards is the outline of another compound, the first section of the Visegrád Relay. Chance motions for us to fall in and I do so, taking position next to Naomi who I realise has been suspiciously quiet this entire time.

“Naomi?” I ask.

“Yes, James?”

“You’ve been quiet.” I point out.

“I have been getting strange readings - I am not sure if my armor-” She trails off and stops in her tracks. A moment later I hear it. The squad stops dead as we hear the sound of distant gunfire coming from Noble’s last reported position. There is the unique snap and crackle of plasma weapon’s discharge among the fighting. Then an explosion, likely from a fuel tank or vehicle echoes across the mountainside.

“Double time it, Kilo-Five!” Chance calls.

“Sergeant,” Naomi cuts in. “We need to fall back to the farm.”

“What? Why?” He asks.

“Multiple heat signatures are inbound to this position, closing fast.”

Just as Naomi reports it I turn to see a Covenant banshee blitz towards us from the horizon line, swooping down from above the farmstead. “Contact!” I shout, as plasma rains down our exposed position. I watch Viking and Chance return fire along with Naomi and myself, but the banshee’s attacks are accurate and several shots pepper Wink. She screams, one round of plasma rounds impacting her leg and sending her to the ground.

“Wink is hit!” Viking calls out, wasting no time in rushing to her position and grabbing the back of her chest rig.

“Get her inside! Kilo-Five, cover fire! Back to the compound!” Chance runs over to help Viking and the two of them start to drag Wink back into the farmhouse. She's holding her leg with one hand and her rifle with the other. I focus on trying to get accurate shots onto the banshee but the low caliber rounds are having little effect, merely bouncing off the alien hull.

“No good!” I shout. “We need something heavier!”

“Fall back!” Chance orders and I see him firing at the garage. A squad of Covenant are there, grunts and jackals with an elite in bright white armor leading them. They see me immediately and start firing. Shots impact the ground around me, and I dive for cover behind some crates and farm equipment.

“Cover fire!” Scratch shouts from the house, and I see him smash a window then unleashing several blasts from his shotgun. Chance’s M7 joins him from another window and I see Naomi open fire from the second story.

“Moving!” I reply, taking the moment to dash for the front door. I feel a round impact on my side but the damage is absorbed by the armor. I slide through the door and crawl to a position of relative safety behind a chest of drawers before returning fire at the enemy position from inside the home. I manage to catch one of the grunts out in the open and I hose him down, blue blood splattering against the concrete. 

The banshee howls as it comes in for another pass, plasma rounds slamming into the side of the house and bursting through the windows. One of the civilians, the husband whom Viking had been talking with earlier, is caught by the attack and his body is covered in plasma burns before any of us can react. He falls to the floor in a crumpled pile and I watch the wife rush to his side, desperately trying to drag him away from the front of the house. 

“Hows Wink?” I ask over the comms as another grunt tries to advance on the home, only to be cut down by the combined fire of myself and Scratch.  
“I’m fine, damnit!” Wink replies.

I hear Chance snap the seal on a biofoam container, and glance over to see him patching up Wink’s leg.

“Stop worrying and get off me, it's fine!” She shouts, pushing Chance off and struggling to her feet. She has a limp, but it isn’t bad. “We have a firefight to win. I’m heading to the second floor to get sights.”

Chance rushes to the front door and slams up against a wall, joining myself and Scratch as we pour fire into the enemy position. 

“We can’t move until that damn banshee is dealt with!” Viking says. I see that he’s trying to tend to the civilian, but even I know he’s gone.  
“Taking care of it.” Naomi radios.

I look around the battle and see Naomi climbing up one of the grain silos in the main compound. She scales it like a monkey, hand over hand yanking her immense weight upwards effortlessly. The Banshee begins another dive right as she reaches the top and I watch the Spartan leap from the silo and smash into the side of the aircraft. She holds on with one hand while the other holds her rifle, unloading shot after shot into the side of the pilot from point blank. The banshee immediately starts to smoke, and pieces of it sloth off, peppering the ground. It jolts, then dives forwards. I see Naomi reach into the cockpit and direct the crashing torpedo towards the enemy position and then bail into a roll a heartbeat before impact. The banshee’s corpse along with the body of its pilot collide with the advancing covenant squad. Several grunts and jackals are crushed beneath it, before the wrack finally slams into the elite leader, pinning him beneath the wreckage.

“We need to help her!” I say and rush from my position. I head out the front door. Chance and Scratch follow me. A jackal goes down under a rain of fire, then two more grunts join him in short order. I watch Naomi dash over to the pinned elite and finish him off with a burst of 7.62 to the skull. With that the field goes quiet, and the battle is over.  
“Clear.” Wink says from her vantage point.

“Not quite.” Naomi says. “Noble must be engaged with Covenant forces as well. We need to move to their position.”

Chance doesn’t waste any time in signaling for the team to fall in. “Let's double time our shit over there, Kilo-Five, this fight ain’t over!”

With that said we all start jogging, heading over the bridge and going East towards the next compound where we previously heard gunfire. My heart is racing, and it feels good. Good to be back in the fight, and good to be fighting the Covenant again. I realise how much I’ve missed it, and I wonder what kind of person that makes me considering there is a dead civilian only a hundred yards behind me.

“Heat signature closing in.” Naomi chimes in as we’re about half way to our destination. “Profiles match that of a Covenant dropship.”

“Heading?” Chance asks.

“The farmstead.” She answers.

“Should we turn back? Evac the civs?” Viking’s question is one I already know the answer to, and I frown.

After a pause Chance voices it. “Stay on task.”

We close in on our destination, and it's another garage. I look over my shoulder and see the Covenant dropship hovering over the remains of our previous engagement, disgorging another fireteam of Covenant troopers. Plasma guns crack in the distance.

“Jesus…” Scratch says and I turn away from the farmstead to investigate what he’s found.

Two troopers are pinned to the wall with farming equipment, strung up by chains and straps. They’ve been dead for awhile by the looks of it.

“Must be the troopers they sent here before Noble… What the hell happened to them?” Even Wink seems disgusted, or maybe just surprised.

“Look here…” Scratch says, pointing to a wound on the man’s neck. “They tortured them.” There is a pause where none of us know what to say. 

Viking joins Scratch beside the corpse, collecting their dog tags. “What could the Covenant want to know that a bunch of random troopers could tell them?”

“They wanted to know if their invasion had been made.” Naomi says with supreme confidence. “If the UNSC sent them here with backup or not…”

I realize that even with all the information we’ve been collecting about the insurgency it doesn’t tell us… “How long have the Covenant been here?” I ask. “I mean - they could have been here for months and we wouldn’t have known. That explains why they tortured the troopers. We’re breaking their cover…”

There is a pause as everyone stares at the two corpses. I try not to imagine what they felt in their last moments.

“You are likely correct, Ginger.” Naomi adds. “If that is true, it means we must reactivate the relay no matter the cost and warn the UNSC.”

Just as she finishes the statement gunfire echoes across the mountainside again, farther East. The squad is jolted from their stupor and moves through the garage, pushing out into another courtyard which is filled with Covenant bodies.

“Must be Noble’s handiwork.” Viking comments.

I look out across a wide valley, with a river running through its center and see far off the base of the relay tower. It's a military installation, and it looks like it. Grey walls, tall and imposing, secure… and ringing with the sound of combat.

“Noble Team this is Kilo-Five, come in.” Chance says over the radio then curses. “Still nothing but static. We need to get across this valley.”  
“That's a lot of open ground…” Scratch says. “If another banshee-”

Chance cuts him off “If another Banshee engages us we’ll deal with it.”

Scratch nods. “Yes, Sir.”

We run as fast as we’re comfortable going without wearing ourselves out completely. I notice Naomi gingerly keeping pace at our flank. I can’t help but feel like we’re holding her back. We are. I know it’s true, the Spartan IIs are super soldiers in every sense of the word… As close to perfect as you can get. I just wish it weren’t so damn obvious.

“Look at this place… Noble team wrecked their shit.” Viking says as we progress through another scattering of Covenant bodies, riddles with bullets, plasma bruns and shrapnel.

“Looks like a damn force of nature came through here.” I say.

“You said these Spartans weren’t like you, Naomi?” Viking asks.

“Correct. They are from a separate program. Their armor is-” Naomi’s wrist chimes an alert and she looks down. “Multiple dropships closing in on our location. We have to move faster.” 

“My legs are only so long!” Scratch replies.

“Lock that shit down, Scratch,” Chance chastises him. “And MOVE up that hill unless you want to die on it!”

We’re sprinting now, and I can feel my body starting to go into overdrive. My aim is going to be off when we enter the combat zone and I make a mental note to compensate for it. Entering a combat situation out of breath is never ideal but sometimes it's your only option. I risk a glance backwards and see three covenant dropships heading towards us at a brisk speed. My heart drops. If we don’t get into the relay now…

“I see Noble team!” Scratch calls from the top of the hill where the entrance to the relay’s perimeter is just through an open gate.

“Noble - Noble Team this is Kilo-five, respond! We’re closing in on your position with covenant dropships on our flank!” Chance is panting, but gets the radio call out in short order. There is no response.

I crest the ridge just in time to see one of the Spartans from Noble Team falling back under covenant fire to behind a blast door, which is slowly closing. “Shit!” I curse and start rushing after Scratch and Viking who are already pushing into the perimiter’s courtyard to engage the covenant there and hopefully get Noble’s attention. Scratch is the first to enter combat, running up behind an elite and pushing the barrel of his shotgun into the alien’s spine before pulling the trigger and blowing a fist-sized hole clean through. Viking guns down several grunts from behind with tight, controlled bursts from his M7 and I shoot the legs out from under a shield-bearing jackal which sends him to the ground where I finish him off with a kick to the skull.

But our efforts prove pointless as I watch the blast door close with a metal thud. We’re sealed outside of the relay with the Covenant dropships quickly closing in on our position. I rush over to the console for the blast door and scowl at what I find.

“Console is a complete wreck!” I radio in.

“Naomi?” Chance asks.

I feel the Spartan’s hand on my shoulder and she pushes me out of the way with all the effort one might move a chair on wheels. “I need time.” She says.

Chance doesn’t hesitate. “You’ll get it. Kilo-Five, we’re holding here. Load up and get set for a good time.”

I look around, assessing the situation. The courtyard is filled with cargo containers and a few trucks, serving as a collection and drop-off point for the relay by the looks of it. To the right of the blast door is a service bay and offload point. A few trucks are parked inside, and there is plenty of hard cover, but staying there essentially forfeits control of the courtyard to the covenant. There aren’t a lot of other options.

“Keep it spread out and fall back into the cargo bay if you need to. Check your ammo.” Chance issues orders, hoisting Wink up into the back of one of the trucks to give her at least some height advantage. I watch as she props the heavy rifle up on the side of its bed for a stable firing platform. Viking takes position at the entrance to the garage, behind a concrete outcropping. I push forwards along with Scratch and take a forward position behind a low wall just behind the main gate where the Covenant are going to drop on us. As I take position I pop a fresh mag into my M7 and take a deep breath, trying to slow my breathing. I see Naomi standing by the door, hunched over the console and furiously typing. She can do it. Then it begins.

The dropships rain fire down on our position with impact plasma launchers and onboard plasma turrets. The wall in front of me gets peppered immediately, chunks of plaster and concrete are sent flying into the air. One of the heavy bolts from the dropship's main gun slams into the truck in front of Wink’s position, blowing a chunk off the cabin’s main structure. Wink’s rifle answers with a thunderous clap, going straight through the chest of one of the gunners manning a plasma turret. It buys me enough breathing room to peak over the wall and return fire. The Covenant are already swarming through the gate, grunts sent forward like cannon fodder. I spray into the horde, dropping two, then three in a heartbeat, their strange aliens screams filling the air. Scratch’s shotgun roars next to me in sequential blasts, mulching whatever grunts are stupid enough to get too close.  
For a moment I think I was worried for nothing, and then the main Covenant force joins the battle. Elites and jackals with energy shields funnel through the gate, spraying plasma and carbine shots in every direction. I’m forced behind cover and I see a carbine round nick the side of Scratch’s helmet.

“Fuck!” He shouts, ducking down behind the low wall and loading more shells into his shotgun.

“I’ve got him!” Wink replies, and her rifle cracks once more. I see the round streak out and bury in the exposed neck of the elite who had fired at Scratch. The alien screams and falls to the ground, clutching his neck and abandoning his weapon.

“Much obliged!” Scratch responds, pumping the action on his shotgun.

Just then the air fills with a familiar scream and I look up to see two banshee’s closing in on our position. “Fast movers incoming!” I radio and Wink turns her rifle to the sky. Three shots ring out in quick succession, one after the other burrowing into the front of the banshee’s hull. The final round punches through into the main cockpit and the banshee careens off course, colliding into the side of a cliff. There's still one up and plasma shots start raining down on my position.

“Ginger, Scratch, fall back to the trucks!” Chance calls, laying down suppressing fire with Viking.

I don’t waste time, tapping Scratch on the shoulder. He stands, firing shot after shot to cover my retreat. The moment I hit the trucks I turn around, blue plasma soaring overhead, and lay down fire to cover him. He slams the truck next to me and we both duck into cover.

“Safe!” He laughs, feeding his shotgun more ammo.

“For now.” I say, slapping another mag into my M7.

“Incoming, high!” Wink shouts.

I look up and see the banshee swoop in for another attack, this time disgorging a green ball of explosive plasma directly at Naomi’s position. Before I can say anything though, she’s already turned around as though she has eyes the back of her head. She dives sideways just as the bolt impacts her previous position. The explosive blast sends her skidding on the concrete, but she’s alive.

“The console is no longer an option.” She states, her voice showing no sign of stress or anxiety. “Fall back to the cargo bay, I will cover.”

“But…” I state, dropping another grunt and sending several shots into the shields of an advancing elite. “You can’t hold off the entire Covenant army!”

“Do as she says, trooper!” Chance chides. 

I frown, but know he’s right. It's not my job to question her. “Wink, I’ve got you covered!” I shout, dipping back out of cover and firing more rounds down range. I see another drop ship show up just on the other side of the perimeter wall, and more grunts and jackals start flooding through the gateway.

“How many are there?!” Scratch says with frustration in his voice. “I’m running low on ammo!”

Scratch drops another elite with several shots to the chest and head. Wink vaults from the truck bed with rifle in hand, and I see her hit the ground and jump up into a quick sprint, running for the safety of the cargo bay as green and blue plasma splash the area around her feet. 

“You two next!” Viking shouts, dropping cover to fire at the oncoming Covenant force. Chance is beside him doing the same.

I slap Scratch’s shoulder and he breaks cover, dashing for the cargo bay while I add my fire in support of his escape. Just as I’m about to break cover myself I see Naomi sprint past at speed, slamming her entire weight into an advancing elite. The alien crumples like a rag doll under her weight, falling to the ground where she empties several rounds into its skull. The grunts scream, fleeing her very presence as she starts to unload magazine after magazine into their attack.

“Go.” She says, steady and relentless as her assault.

I sprint across the gap, reaching the cargo bay in no time at all. I join the squad at the entrance and focus on dropping whatever isn’t swept away by Naomi’s rifle.  
“Two mags!” Viking shouts.

I remove one of the spare mags from my boot. “Here!” I shout and toss it his direction. He catches the mag and stuffs it into his chest rig before pouring more fire into the Covenant. Another jackal hits the ground, clutching multiple wounds. He’s quickly finished by a well aimed shot from Naomi whose drawing the full focus of the Covenant now. Shot after shot pelt against her armor, her shields absorbing the brunt of the damage. She grabs hold on an elite, breaking its leg with one well placed kick and disarming it just as smoothly. She props her rifle under the alien’s arm and uses the screaming creature as a shield, slowly withdrawing to our position. Just as she reaches us she drops the already dead elite and fires two shots into the back of its head.

“We’re running out of room.” Scratch states, his voice filled with the calm that comes from accepting fate.

“Shut up and shoot!” Viking scolds.

Minutes pass as we run through magazine after magazine, each of us reporting critically low ammo. It looks like this might be it when the radio crackles to life. The whole squad seems momentarily shocked, and there is a noticeable pause in the firefight before we all snap out of it and resume the fight.

“Kilo-Five, this is Colonel Holland, come in.”

“Colonel Holland, this is Kilo-Five!” Chance replies.

“Kilo-Five the Visegrád Relay has been reactivated by Noble Team. The Winter Contingency is in effect. I repeat, the Winter Contingency is in effect. Covenant forces have attacked reach, do you copy?”

“Have they!?” Scratch shouts out mockingly over the squad’s comms before pumping another shot into an advancing grunt, tearing its chest open in a gruesome display of killing efficiency.

“Copy, Colonel. Kilo-Five is currently engaged with multiple Covenant drop ships at the relay’s Eastern gate. I repeat, multiple Covenant dropship on our position. Request Noble team be redirected to this entrance to open the door and provide support, how copy, cover?”

There is a pause, and for a moment I fear that the aliens have somehow managed to get the jammers back online.

“Positive copy, Kilo-Five but negative on the request. Noble team has already been reassigned and is currently exfil. We’re rerouting nearby Falcon gunships to come render support and evac you from the hot zone, ETA ten mikes, how copy?”

“Ten mikes, copy. We’ll be here. Kilo-Five out.” Chance looks at the squad. “Mag count!”

“Two.” Wink says.

“Last mag.” Viking replies, just as he pops in a fresh one after dropping another elite some ten yards away.

“Two.” I say.

“Maybe… ten shells left? Give or take a few in pockets.” 

“Here.” Chance says, passing out another M7 mag to me and Viking.

As I place the mag inside my rig I see Naomi climbing up into the cab of one of the trucks. “Naomi? What are you doing?” I ask.

“Getting us ten minutes.” She replies, and the truck roars into life. “Get away from the door.”

The squad shifts position right as Naomi releases the clutch. The heavy cargo truck lurches forwards, wheels spinning, looking for traction. They find it, and Naomi guides the truck immediately right, directly into the face of an oncoming elite. The alien lets out a garbled yelping sound as its slammed by nine tons of heavy steel. She doesn’t let off the gas, and several grunts are caught up in the truck’s wheels.

“Yeah!” Viking cheers, stepping out of cover to drop those Covenant smart enough to dive out of the way. I join him.

I see the elites shouting, turning their lesser alien brethren’s attention over to the rampaging vehicle. Fire starts pouring in from every angle, more than the squad can suppress. Flames belch from the front of the truck as its engine is torn apart by the unrelenting assault and it crashes into the opposite perimeter wall. For a moment my heart sinks but then Naomi bursts from the wreckage with rifle in hand, flying through the air and planting a crushing kick to a nearby jackal. She doesn’t break stride, dancing through the battlefield like an avatar of death, pumping shot after shot into any Covenant in her sight. Her rifle quickly runs dry, but that doesn’t stop her. She picks up one of the alien carbines and gets right back to work.

“She’s a damn machine.” Scratch says.

We provide what support we can from our positions, but it's clear the Covenant are no match for Naomi. She’s tearing through them like tissue paper. But even so time is the enemy to us all. Her shields start to falter, glowing a little less brighter than they once had and more and more the enemy are turning their attention to the single Spartan, all but ignoring us completely. As good as she is, she’s still human. Time passes in a blur and before long I hear Viking over the comms.

“I’m out!” Viking shouts.

I check my M7 and the digital readout shows a disheartening 15 rounds. Then the sky fills with the sound of blades - helicopters. Three Falcon gunships scream around the corner of the mountain, their guns roaring to life the moment they’re in view. 20mm shells impact the enemy with devastating effect, ripping through shields and turning alien flesh to mulch. The Covenant dropships try and return fire, but they’re slow, and hardly suitable to engage other air targets. Within moments they’re peeling off, retreating to the open sky, leaving their comrades to die an inglorious death, and die they do. In mere moments the tide is turned, and Naomi seems to redouble her efforts, seeking out whatever Covenant forces survive and silencing them.

As soon as it began, the fight was over, and the courtyard was silent except for the engines of the Falcons hovering above.  
“Kilo-Five, this is Cowboy Two-Six, how copy?”

“We copy, Cowboy Two-Six, you really saved our ass.” Chance replies.

“Hah. Out of the frying pan… Covenant on Reach, who’d have thought? I’ve got orders to bring you to Firebase Golf in the Ütközet region. Hop aboard and we’ll get you out of here.”

I watch as two of the Falcons descend and land inside the courtyard, then see Naomi crouched over the body of an elite. I walk over and look at the dead alien, whose four lipped face is contorted in pain.

“Good work.” I say.

“Zealot class.” She comments, pointing at the Elite’s white armor.

“What’s that mean?” I ask.

“I’m not sure…” She admits, grabbing her rifle from beside the dead alien. “Come on, James. Let’s go home.”

***

When we arrived at Firebase Golf the alert had already gone out to the entirety of the UNSC. Sword base was reportedly under attack, along with a dozen smaller installations. Nothing major though, and early estimations had the Covenant forces vastly outnumbered and outgunned. Kilo-Five, myself included, were set up in one of the barracks, and given some time for a little R&R before receiving new orders.

Viking sat in front of a TV with Wink, and both have their eyes glued to a UNSC new station which promises ‘up to the minute’ coverage. So far the news is mostly positive. Casualties have occurred, obviously, but UNSC forces are achieving victory in key positions. New Alexandria’s defenses are holding solid, and the Covenant have only made a token effort to take the surrounding areas.

“This is nothing like Harvest.” Viking says, leaning forward in his chair.

“Who knows, maybe they really were hurt as bad as the brass thought? Maybe this is all they’ve got left?” Wink shrugs, and takes a drink of water from her canteen.

“Maybe they just got scared from how much ass we kicked?” Scratch says from his position on one of the cots. He laughs, stuffing a moa wing into his mouth.

“Ugh - where’d you get those things?” I ask. “They stink.”

“Vending machine out front. You want one? They’re not that bad.”

“Keep your disgusting snacks to yourself.” Viking snorts.

“Suit yourself.” He says and shrugged.

“I hate to say it, but it's good to be fighting the Covey again. All this damn insurgency bullshit…” Viking grumbles to himself.

“You never were one to finish the fight.” Wink retorts.

Viking shifts his position, giving her a hostile look. “What the hells that supposed to mean.”

“Means what I said.” Wink replies.

Scratch chuckles.

“You’re soft on the insurgents.” She adds.

“Maybe I just don’t hate other human beings as much as you?”

She snorts. “You’re damn right I hate them.”

“Yeah? And what the hell did they ever do to you, hu? A bunch of poor damn farmers just trying to fight for some fucking autonomy. Is that so bad?” Viking looks at her incredulously. I am quietly glad no officers are here to hear him say that.

“They killed my brother.” Wink states flatly, her expression icy. “And my father.”

Viking deflates. “Oh.” He pauses. “Sorry.”

“They were catching a ride home on a starship, and the insurgents bombed it. This was the day after Harvest had begun. I was about to be shipped off and for all I knew that was the last chance I was going to get to see them both. They couldn't put their petty political bullshit aside for one day when humanity was faced with literal aliens attacking from space.” Wink spoke as if she was reading from a cue card, or recalling something that had happened to another person.

“Yeah…” Viking says, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t-”

“I know you didn’t.” Wink says, and offers him a weak smile. “I’ll never forgive them for what they did, and I’ll never forgive the fact that even now we’re still dealing with it. When the Covenant are dead and gone it’ll resume just like it did before.”

“You think so?” I ask.

“I know so.” She replies.

The door to the barracks slides open and Chance steps through alongside Naomi. “Alright, Kilo-Five,” He pauses, observing everyone’s expression and raising a brow. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nothing, Sir.” Wink says. Viking gives a weak cough and adjusts his gear.

“Right.” Chance says and walks into the room. He tosses his helmet on one of the cots. “Just got out of briefing with Major Horn and Colonel Holland. They’re sending multiple recon teams out into the field tonight to locate possible Covenant strongpoints. Once they tag ‘em, we’re heading in at first light to mop them up.”

“Are we going to be with the main assault?” Scratch asks.

“Can’t say. Won’t know till we know.” Chance replies, and plops himself down on the cot, kicking his feet up. “Until then get some rest, take a shower… Especially you, Viking.”

Wink chuckles, turning back to the TV.

“Ginger, we need to go to the armory and have your weapon inspected.” Naomi states and I look at her with surprise.

“What?” I ask.

“Your weapon.” She repeats.

I look at Chance who simply shrugs and gives me a ‘No idea’ kind of expression.

“Yes, ma’am.” I respond, grabbing my M7 and standing up to join her. Naomi is still in her armor, helmet on, whereas the rest of Kilo-Five has stripped down to their fatigues. I follow her out of the barracks and we turn right, heading towards the armory at the center of the firebase.

“We’re not going to the armory.” Naomi says after a few moments walking away from the barracks. “I wanted to talk.”

“Oh.” I say, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable without the visor of my helmet in front of my face. We walk to the firebase’s perimeter wall and she turns to look at me. I offer her a smile which I hope doesn’t look as awkward as it feels. “About?” I question.

“ONI denied my request for access to your file.” She says after a moment.

Part of me is surprised, and part of me isn’t. “I see.”

“That's all?” She presses.

I shrug. “What else can I say?”

There is a long pause. I watch Naomi raise her hands to her helmet and unlock it. She removes it and for the first time I get to properly see her. I’m immediately started by how young she looks. Judging by her appearance she can’t be more than a teenager, but I know for a fact she is older than that. Medical scars line her face and her eyes are piercing to the point of being uncomfortable to look at. She regards me for a moment, sizing me up I suppose and then turns her gaze to the horizon. “Nothing.” She says cooly.

“You know I’d tell you if I could.” I say.

“I don’t.” She confesses.

“Well-- That's fair I guess.” I rub the back of my neck. Even though I feel like I’ve known Naomi for a great deal longer than I have the reality is she doesn’t have a very compelling reason to trust me any more than the average UNSC marine. “Does it help if I tell you I have a good reason to stay quiet?”

She looks at me. “Do you think I am upset?”

I am taken aback by the question, unsure how to respond. “Maybe I did… before you just asked that. Now I’m not sure.” She smiles. It is infectious. I smile back.  
“I am not upset.” She clarifies. “Merely… curious.”

“Why?”

“You are unique. I have never met someone with the clearance level of a fellow Spartan, who wasn’t one. On top of that, I have never before been denied access to a Tier One file - especially when it was relevant to the performance of my duties.” 

Performance of her duties. My neck starts to hurt and suddenly I’m aware of how much taller Naomi is than me. I look down and roll my shoulders to relieve some of the tension. “How can I show you that you can trust me?”

She laughs, well… snickers really. “I already know I can trust you. Your performance in the field was more than enough to prove that.”

“Ahh. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. You would have made a good Spartan I think.”

My brow perks up at that and I try to accept the statement with a modicum of grace, but I can feel the grin creeping across my face. “Yeah… Well -- I was too old for the program.”

Naomi’s expression changes, a seriousness overtaking her features and her brow knitting together. She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her running through scenarios in her mind. I realise the implications of what I’ve just said and any pride I had previously felt vanishes, replaced with a ball of anxiety in my guts.

“I see.” She finally says after a long and awkward moment. “You should get back to the barracks and get some rest.”

“What about you?” I ask.

The smile creeps across her face once again. “I’m going to watch the stars for a bit longer I think.”

I nod, admiring the Spartan for a moment. “Well - don’t stay up too late. Big day tomorrow, and all that.” I turn back towards the barracks and make plans for a nice warm shower before hitting the sack.


	6. Hidden Dagger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I've never made a note before so I hope this works the way I think it will. As you're all no doubt aware this year which is thankfully almost over has been difficult. I do not wish to draw this out, but wish to apologies for such a long gap between my last update. I wish you all a wonderful 2021, long life, and good fortune. Thank you for reading, and stay safe.

Despite our previous assumption that we would be at Firebase Golf for only a single night, that quickly turned into a week, and now a few days more. Horn has delayed the attack, presumably waiting for the Covenant's main force to consolidate for a decisive strike. The Covenant have continued to land more forces on this half of Reach, but it's scattered and seems uncoordinated. I look down at the data pad in my hand. Reports show the UNSC successfully fighting back the Covenant at every key battle across Reach. We're winning.

Naomi enters the barracks and beckons us around her. "Come see this."

She stands at the center of our rag-tag circle, and each of us is enthralled by the holographic display held in the palm of her hand. The images being displayed are of a massive Covenant force, the scale of which boggles my mind. Thousands of dots, like stars in the sky, covered a wide valley like a living blanket. The landing zone appears to be in some kind of canyon, probably North of our current position.

"My God…" Wink breaths, displaying uncharacteristic surprise.

"What are we looking at, Naomi?" Chance asks, I assume trying to find some explanation for what he was seeing beyond the obvious.

"These are images captured last night at approximately zero, two hundred hours by Noble team on Szurdok Ridge in the Ütközet region. As you can see…" She pauses, and keys something into the holo display, which causes the image to shift and focus on a particular area. "Covenant forces have deployed a sizable ground force in preparation for invasion."

"How come this is the first we're hearing about it? Early warning sensors should have picked this up the moment..." Scratch trails off, bewilderment playing across his face.

Naomi gestures at a structure within the display, a large conical spire with some kind of energy field emanating from its apex. "The Covenant are using some sort of energy field which has hidden the force from sataline scans until now. A distortion was picked up, and Noble team was sent to investigate. They found this."

"An army." I say quietly. "They must have been unloading this entire time." Naomi nods.

"What's the plan?" Chance asks, clearly eager to get to the meat of the issue.

"Frontal assault." She says carefully. The assessment hangs in the air for a moment, Kilo-Five absorbing the weight of the information. I understand the UNSC's perspective - if we can deliver a powerful, decisive first strike, we can cripple the Covenant before the invasion even has a chance to truly begin.

"They want to end the war before it turns into Harvest." I say.

Chance nods. "Seems that way. Have the element of surprise and they want to use it."

"These images are classified." Naomi adds. "Only ONI and Hi-Com have access."

She's telling us to keep things to ourselves. Everyone nods.

At that moment a voice crackles over the bases' loudspeakers. "All UNSC forces report to your ready stations, and prepare for a briefing from Colonel Horn over the sec-net…"

Chance nods at the squad, and Naomi keys the holo image away. I follow behind her as we move toward the armory. We prepare, double and triple checking our armor, refilling magazines and cleaning what can be cleaned.

With the briefing about to start we gather around the vehicle bay, standing beside two Warthog's Naomi has managed to get assigned to us. I'm anxious, and tap my foot on the metal maintenance deck, hoping to get the move out order sooner than later. I hate waiting and I've been waiting for over a week watching others fight.

Several of the engineers, their yellow overalls making them stand out among the drab, olive-green fatigues of the rank-and-file, are gathered around each other. They speak in hushed whispers, the topic, rumors of a big operation.

"Word gets around quick." Viking comments.

Chance glances over and nods, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

There isn't much to talk about, and each of us is minding their own, doing their best to make last minute preparation or calm their nerves. We wait for the bases' holoscreens to come alive with the briefing broadcast. Viking pulls himself into the bed of one of the Warthogs, checking the ammo storage for the main weapon and pulling a diagnostics cable from his wrist. Scratch is sat on the hood, legs spread and rifle laid by his side while Chance and Wink are talking to each other over a datapad in Wink's hand. Naomi is standing next to me in front of the other Warthog, her expressionless helmet tilted upwards towards the blank holoscreen.

Ever since our conversation on the battlements I've felt a certain coldness about her, like a door has been shut. Her interactions have been curt, only ever a passing sentence. I feel compelled to try and explain, and maybe repair something, but I don't know how. If I tell her the truth there will be no going back and that terrifies me.

"So… Did you read my file yet?" I begin.

Her helmet moves an almost imperceptible amount towards me. Just then the screen flickers on and Colonel Horn's face appears in the center of the screen. He's an older man, in his late sixties, early seventies, but still has a head full of thick, albeit white hair. The lines on his face are deep, and a burn scar covers the left side of his face. Both eyes are dark and piercing, and when he speaks it is a low, practiced rumble.

"Men and women of the UNSC…" He begins. "I am here today to deliver a promise, and a declaration. We are at war with the Covenant once again. Once again we are faced with an uncaring, unsympathetic enemy who cannot be reasoned with, who cannot be bargained with, and who desires the very extinction of our species."

I look at the others who have gathered around, each watching the screen with rapt attention. The engineers have halted their conversations, and even the sounds of the base have faded into the background. Everyone is listening.

"But I promise you this will not be another Harvest. Today we have the upper hand, and today we use it. This is the start of Operation Hidden Dagger. Thanks to your tireless efforts we are in a stronger position now than we have ever been. We are armed, well supplied, and supported by all branches. ONI's own fireteams have worked day and night to provide invaluable intelligence about enemy positions and movement. Through this we have learned the Covenant have landed an invasion force in Szurdok Ridge." Horn pauses, letting the information sink in. His face is stern, eyes steely.

"We will crush this invasion force before it has time to prepare. Within the hour we will deploy forces from across Reach to engage in a coordinated surprise attack. You will not be alone. The Navy, ONI, and our heroic Spartans will be in this fight." From outside I hear a small cheer, maybe from a group of navy flyboys excited to be mentioned, maybe from marines eager to get into the fight.

"This is the moment where victory is assured. This is the moment humanity stands tall in the face of our old enemy and says, 'We will not go gently into that good night.' This is the moment we fight, and this is the moment we win." The Colonel strikes a crisp salute and holds it. "I salute you all. God's speed. Colonel Horn out."

The screen flickers a moment and then shut off. Not even a heartbeat later the bases' speaker system comes alive, declaring deployment orders across the base. At once the motor pool is flooded with engineers topping off tanks and performing final weapon's checks. Behind me the roar of a Warthog's big block engine sounds and I turned to see Scratch behind the wheel.

"We movin' out, Sir?" He asks with a grin on his face.

The large, forty-nine inch tires of the warthog excitedly tear at the dry earth of Szurdok Ridge, spitting chunks of dirt and rocks up into the growing dust cloud. Its nearly day break, and the horizon is just starting to turn that mystical, purple-orange hue of first light. I stare at the sky, and almost forget the stress that has been a constant ever since we arrived on Reach. A sharp jerk of the suspension shakes me out of the calm however, and Viking curses aloud from his position behind me on the main gun.

"Can you try not to hit every single crater?" He says with unhidden annoyance. "This gun keeps digging into my shoulder."

Wink snorts from her position behind the wheel. "I'll be sure to put in a request with the development commission - make sure they get this valley smoothed out for your comfort and concern." She yanks the Warthog sideways, narrowly avoiding a sizable boulder.

Viking grunts, the force of the maneuver pushing him sideways as he grips onto the mounted gun for stability. "That'd be nice." He murmurs.

I look to our right, and see the other Warthog of Kilo-Five keeping pace, swerving and darting in a similarly uncomfortable fashion. Scratch is behind the wheel, with Chance in the passenger seat, the brilliant teal of Naomi's armor on the gun. Beyond that are dozens more; Warthogs in various configurations, Scorpion MBTs, and above an entire combat wing of Falcons with a few gunship pattern Pelican for CAS. The assault force is vast, more than I've seen the UNSC deploy in a long time.

"Colonel Horn wasn't kidding when he said people were coming from all over Reach." I say over the squad channel.

"The Colonel has pulled from defensive installations across the planet." Naomi said. "Key defensive platforms planetside are operating at less than twenty-percent staff."

"You sound worried." Viking says.

"No. It just means we cannot afford to lose."

"With you around, I don't think losing is possible." Viking laughs.

Naomi doesn't respond. I push back memories that remind me just how fragile the Spartans can be, and try to believe we'll all make it through this alive.

"Wink, deviate to the right - That's Noble Team in front of us. We're going to cross a bridge behind them then split off at a highway junktion."

"Roger that, Sir." Wink replies and I feel the weight of the Warthog shift to the left and she turns right.

"We will be within visual range in the next minute." Naomi comments.

I can barely make out the Spartans from Noble Team in front of us, one is in bright blue armor and another is in black. A boom echoes through the air and to the right, on the ridge of the canyon at the base of what looks to be a Covenant outpost of some kind of pillar an explosion ripples out. The alien structure collapses to the ground.

"The pylons are down! Contact, contact!" Comes the panicked voice from one of the Falcon pilots.

Like an ant hill being stepped on by a careless child, the sky is immediately filled with Covenant Bashees. Then they're on us. They speed and howl unnaturally through the air, opening up with twin-linked plasma from their bulbous noses. Blue bolts collide with the Warthog to our left, tearing through its engine bay and igniting the fuel within. The vehicle dips forwards, flames exploding outwards, and its front buries into the dirt causing it to somersault forwards through the air before crashing down and rolling several times.

"Get that fifty firing!" Wink shouts and immediately the air is filled with the cacophony of battle.

Viking sweeps the gun from left to right, spraying bullets into the swarm of enemy aircraft. One takes a hit to the left pylon and dips sideways.

"Stay with it!" I shout and raise my rifle, squeezing the DMR's trigger several times.

Viking and I follow the Banshee down as it tries to recover, pulling off into a wide turn but in the process exposing its belly. We pump shot after shot into the weak underside of the enemy aircraft and it finally erupts into purple flame then soars into the ground. There isn't time to celebrate though, as another swoops in and takes its place.

"Incoming!" I warn, just as the enemy fire hits our position. Part of the windscreen is sheared off, as a plasma bolt impacts only a few inches from my head, and melts the headrest behind me. Several shots hit Viking's position, but the gunshield's heavy metal absorbs the abuse and Viking's return fire forces the Banshee to abandon its attack line.

"I've got the bridge in sight!" Scratch radios from the other Warthog who I see are having just as much trouble as we are, with part of its rear bumper hanging off limply and battering the ground.

"Right behind you!" Wink replies, wheeling the unruly Warthog into position.

With the battle truly commencing in earnest, dust is swirling all around us now reducing visibility. I look up just in time to see a group of Falcons roar into view, guns opening up and raining spent brass down on us. The concentrated fire from the Falcons knocks two more Banshees out of the sky with one spinning sideways and impacting the side of the bridge.

"Pull off!" Chance orders, and I watch as the bridge collapses just ahead of him.

Wink yanks the wheel but I see Noble's Warthog press forwards, undeterred. The Spartan driver guns the engine, and takes the bridge and full speed, trying to jump the gap. The Warthog clears it, but crashes onto the other side, rolling over as it does so. We speed down a natural ramp into a riverbed where I lose sight of Noble team.

"Did they make it!?" Scratch askes, his helmet turning rapidly, trying to get a look.

"Yeah, they made it!" I answer while firing at another incoming banshee who has swooped into the narrow gully in an attempt to chase us down.

"We have to keep going," Chance says, "Here, take a left and get us out of the riverbed then head towards the objective. We'll have to fight through the main lines."

"Let's do it!" Viking replies, still spitting lead at the aircraft pursuing us. It's pylon is hit and starts spewing black smoke. I watch the pilot try to pull out of the gully only to smash into the side after failing to gain altitude. It erupts into flame and debris, the rolling wreck tearing itself apart.

Scratch finds another natural include in the gully and drives the Warthog up the side, bouncing as its nubbly tires struggle for grip on the steep incline. They clear the edge of the riverbed where it meets the plateau and we follow. For a second I'm weightless as our Warthog takes the same jump. We come down hard with a jolt and a swerve, but the Warthog shows no sign of slowing.

In front of us is the vast expanse of the engagement. A Scorpion MBT drives by, then fires its main gun with an ear-splitting boom. The sheel screams towards an enemy Scarab, a massive four-legged machine, beatle-like in its appearance with an articulated head that fires beams of deadly plasma. Several Warthogs follow, their gunners firing wildly, doing their best to keep the enemy aircraft from targeting the valuable armor.

Ten minutes of swerving through wreckage and enemy fire, though it has felt like an hour, and our primary objective is finally in sight. I look towards the ridge, where the enemy hardpoint lies perched on an outcropping of the canyon wall. The large Type-38 Anti-Aircraft Cannon, or 'Tyrant,' is preventing two Paris Class frigates from providing much needed support to the ground units.

The radio crackles to life, the marines' voice on the other end half obscured by background noise. "This is Foxhound-Three, requesting support! We're pinned down enroute to the Tyrant! Low on ammo and in need of additional medical supplies. Enemy plasma-mortars are present at the location, and dug in. I repeat, enemy armor is present. We need a Scorpion up here stat!"

"There is no way we're getting armor through these rocks." Wink says, swerving around another boulder half the size of the Warthog itself.

We are progressing up hill now, heading along a quickly-narrowing path up the canyon wall. Ahead the wall curves, and beyond it towards the enemy Tyrant's position, I can hear the crack of gunfire. Below to my right is the bulk of the battle and what we had just driven through. Looking down from this elevated position I can see the mass of UNSC forces press on towards the main landing zone. A huge dust cloud now obscures almost everything and within the yellow flashes of Scorpion main guns and Warthog anti-air fire compete for dominance against the blue of their enemy. A sudden bump and right front wheel of the Warthog gets caught on a rock, the rubber squealing as it vies for grip. The rear tyers dig into the ground, churning the earth below and jolting the vehicle.

"Use the diff-lock!" Viking says from his position.

"I know how to drive, Viking!" Wink curses, thumping the wheel with her gloved hand. "Chance, I think we're stuck."

I look up and see the red tail lights of Chance's Warthog about fifty feet ahead, struggling to get over a large boulder. I shift myself over and disembark to examine the wheel when chance comes over the radio. "We can't get much further up here anyway. Disembark and catch up. Grab as much ammo as you can, and extra medpacks for the marines."

Towards the back of the Warthog Viking is struggling to get a large pack on his back, one he had packed previously full of ammunition and spare medical supplies. I walk over and grab the underside of the backpack, shifting the weight onto his back. He lets out a grunt, strapping it into place.

"Thanks." He says, and does a few mini-jumps to get everything shifted into place before grabbing his rifle from the truck bed and racking it.

Wink is already moving ahead, rifle in hand. "Come on boys, keep up."

"Right behind you, mom." Viking replies, and taps me on the shoulder before taking off at a light jog.

We are about two hundred yards away from the Foxhound-Three, and I can see that the marine squad has been pushed back from the enemy position. They're hiding alongside the canyon wall, behind an outcropping of boulders that, for the moment, is shielding them from plasma artillery.

"Wink, flank left and get overwatch on Foxhound. Viking, you and Ginger head towards Foxhound's position. Provide aid and get me a sitrep on-."

"You all need to hear this." Naomi cuts him off and patches a command channel through.

"Kilo-Five this is Colonel Holland, new task assignment; cease all objectives immediately and pull back. Redeploy your team to Orbital Defense Generator B-242. This is a code black, all other objectives secondary. You have a thirty-minute window to get there, as Covenant forces are breaking through the Eastern flank enroute to the facility. Do you copy, over?"

Viking's mirrored visor turns to look at Chance then back towards the Foxhound's position. From our position it's easy to see they aren't in good shape. Several men are clutching their sides, crimson leaking out onto the orange earth. They have managed to drag several of their wounded into cover by the rocks, but the plasma mortars are continuing to pound their position. One man screams, thrown to the ground by a blast of heated energy. He flails for his rifle while another marine grabs him by the collar and drags him back into cover.

"Sergeant, they won't last without us." Viking protests, his voice hard and straining.

"We have our orders." Chance says after a meaningful pause.

"We can't just let these men die when we're this close!" I say, suddenly getting flashbacks of Harvest and the men we left to die there. "If we don't take out the Tyrant the whole battle may be lost. Just look at what we drove through on the way here. We need air support from the Frigates!"

"Exactly." Viking adds.

"We don't have all the info." Wink interjects. "If we're being ordered off the assault imagine what's happening at the ODG facility? Might be even worse?"

Naomi's characteristically calm, almost unnatural voice quiets the squad. "Ginger, we are not in a position to question our orders. The mission comes first. We have to leave."

"And you're okay with that? Just leaving." I snap at her and wish I hadn't a heartbeat later.

"We're wasting time." Scratch adds.

"If we fight the same way we fought on Harvest the result will be the same." Naomi's visor stares right at me.

Her words cut deep, and the memories force me to look away in shame.

"No… We can't." Viking protests.

"Come on." I reply, the defeat clear in my voice. I hate the sacrifices we're being forced to make, now more than ever. This isn't what we were trained to do, this isn't how humanity is supposed to fight. We don't leave people to die, treat them like meat, like fodder. I shoulder my rifle and move away towards the Warthog.

"Fall in." Chance says to Viking and I see him slowly rise.

Wink and Scratch fall in behind Chance, jogging back to their Warthog. Viking and myself take up the rear, each of us risking a glance backwards. Another call comes from Foxhound over the radio, and this time the voice of a much younger man. I take a deep breath, cut the channel and move on.

"I'm with Viking and Ginger, Wink switch Warthogs." Naomi orders.

Wink nods, and shifts position without complaint. When we reach our Warthog Naomi moves to the front of the vehicle, shoulders her rifle, and grabs the front rambar in both hands. With a grunt of effort she lifts the entire front of the Warthog clear of the rock and shoves it backwards ten feet, freeing it from the beached position. Viking and I stand there stoopified for a fraction of a second, and I realise how frequently I am starting to forget what Naomi really is.

"Come on." She says.

"I've got the gun." Viking announces, hopping into the bed of the truck and swiveling the turret around.

I hop in the passenger seat beside Naomi and rest my rifle on the rollbar to stabilize it, ready to engage whatever tries to block our path. Naomi and Wink both gun the engine of their Warthogs and soon we're speeding off in the opposite direction of the battle, falling back inland towards Orbital Defense Generator B-242. We're already five minutes behind schedule, the window fast closing.

Soon we're far behind the main force of the battle and making good time. Here the battle is quieter, only the distant crack of gunfire occasionally punctuated by the boom of a tank gun. Around us wrecks of Scorpions and Warthogs crackle with fire. In some cases the charred armor of their drivers and crew are still in their positions, helmets forever looking ahead. ODST are no strangers to hard decisions, in fact we're known for it. Spats like the one before are kept private within the squad, but they do happen. Still, this one feels different. As we pass more and more death on our way towards this new objective I wonder, how far is too far? At what point will we give up our humanity just in order to ensure victory? Will it be worth it? Is survival the ultimate goal that justifies anything? I look at Naomi sitting in the driver's seat. Her helmet is forward, eyes presumably scanning the road. She's probably calculating the most efficient route to the objective, as well as a hundred other things. I think of the girl under the armor, the girl that was once a child with a family who loved her, who lived on a small outer-rim planet no one had paid much attention to. Does she even remember her home?

"James?" Naomi asks over a private channel.

"Hu?"

"Are you alright? You seem distracted."

I frown behind my visor and realise I've been staring at the side of her helmet. "Fine. Just- thinking."

"Don't." She says. "We follow orders. Always. No matter what they are, we get the job done, we push through."

"It doesn't bother you?" I ask.

There is a long pause. The Warthog continues to bounce over scraps of metal and debris as we scream towards our objective. "No."

I'm about to follow up with another question when a roar of thunder echoes through the sky above. No, not thunder, engines. A Paris Class Frigates breaches the cloud cover above us, bursting through like a primordial serpent. It's over five hundred meters long, and one of a pair on standby to support the assault. I watch as wisps of atmosphere cling to the hull of the massive ship as it powers towards its objective.

"It's the Grafton!" Scratch calls over the radio.

"The marines must have taken out that Tyrant if she's coming in this close." I say, shifting my position so I can look behind the Warthog, wanting to keep the cruiser in sight as it moves past us. It dives forwards into the valley and I see the venting on the side of the MAC gun open up. "It's going to fire!" I shout. Viking whirls in his position pointing the gun rearward, and both Warthogs slow and come to a halt.

The voice of Control comes over the coms. "Be advised, all ground units, Frigate 318-Heavy is inbound and MAC rounds have been authorized."

I watch the Grafton move into position and fire at an object I can't quite make out. The bright shot lances through the air, and even at this distance I feel the shockwave. Seconds later wind buffets our Warthog as the pressure wave passes and the sound echoes through the dusty plains of the canyon.

"About time." Scratch says, a grin in his voice.

A blue lance, as bright as the sun, drives through the spine of the Grafton from above and punches clean through its belly. Fire erupts from the monstrous wound, and the ship starts its rapid descent reachward. I watch the engines break apart first, the strain of keeping the severed ship afloat causing chain overloads in the quad reactors. More explosions tear through its guts, the engine pylons crumpling like tinfoil. The ship cracks in half, the front half colliding with a cliff and breaking apart, the rear half nose-diving into the ground where it is consumed by flame.

"What happened?!" Viking shouts in confusion.

Above the Grafton a Covenant ship of almost incomprehensible size decloaks, appearing out of thin air, and then descends from the low atmosphere. A Covenant CSO-class Supercarrier, presumably the one that has been unloading most of the Covenant forces here in the valley. They've been here the entire time, hidden. I don't have time to process what I'm seeing before Naomi guns the engine.

"What are you doing?" Viking asks, clearly wanting to turn back and help.

"We have to get to the ODG. The defense platforms won't have the power to take out something that size without them."

The other Warthog quickly falls in behind us. I try not to look up. I focus on the road ahead. I focus on the mission.


	7. The Maw

The drive to the ODG facility passes in silence, each of us inevitably drawn inwards to our personal ruminations. I see the frigate in my mind, falling from the sky, dozens of black, uniformed specs spraying from its broken hull like blood from a deep wound. Unprepared again. Is humanity doomed to always be on the back foot? Are we fighting a war we can even win? It felt like we were so close, and yet already the cost was so high. I think back to why I joined the ODST in the first place and a grim thought passes through my mind; _Isn’t this what you wanted? An unwinnable fight?_

“ETA ten mikes.” Chance says over the radio.

We’ve exited Szurdok Ridge and entered the Huron Valley where the ODG is located. It is surrounded on all sides by a circular imprint of cliffs, nestled deep into a wooded valley in the center of what I imagine was once the impact site of a large meteorite eons before humanity ever set foot on the planet. We’re driving down a secondary feeder road next to the main highway. Unpaved and rural, the Warthog bounces along over the rough ground towards our objective at top speed. With Naomi behind the wheel the ride has taken on an uncharacteristically smooth quality. Her reaction time far outpaces our own, and she menuevers the heavy vehicle with deft grace.

“I’m picking up multiple Spirit signatures.” Wink says.

“The enemy has already landed and is assaulting the loading bay.” Naomi comments.

“Are they in the facility?” Chance inquires.

“Unknown.” Naomi replies, “I have lost contact with the facilities’ AI.”

Just then a Spirit dropship passes overhead, its two arms stretching forwards like a strange tuning fork, each packed with dozens of able-bodied troops. The gun emplacement on the bottom of the dropship pivots backwards, locking onto our position with a whirl of mechanical precision.

“They’ve spotted us!” Scratch calls from his position on the gun of the other Warthog.

Purple bolts of heated plasma rain down from the aircraft’s turret, hitting the ground just left of our vehicle. Naomi jerks the wheel, and the Warthog skids sideways on the loose gravel beneath us. The bolt detonates, kicking up dirt and rocks that loudly pepper the side of my helmet. I grab onto the Warthog’s passenger handle, and try to brace my rifle to acquire a shot on the craft’s gun but another bolt hits the front of the truck. The engine bay sparks and the RPM plummets as the cylinders are fused together under intense heat. Flames belch out around the hood as excess oil is ignited. Scratch and Viking open fire with their turrets but the Phantom passes us almost as quickly as it arrived and before they can land any good hits it's gone.

“It doesn’t care about us, it's going to the facility.” Viking growls with irritation.

Naomi tries to start the Warthog again but only the _click click click_ of the starter answers her request. She looks around for a moment and then her helmet pans to me and she shrugs.

“We’re walking.” She says, and for the first time I think I detect a tone of genuine humor in her voice.

“Dismount, grab ammo.” Chance calls. “You know the drill.”

I watch Scratch jump off the back of the Warthog and grab his shotgun from its stowed position, pumping it once with a satisfying noise of prepared armament as the shell is fed into the chamber.

“Let's get some payback.” He says.

***

The wooded valley provides plenty of cover for our advance. Naomi is up front with Chance, jogging through the underbrush as the squad and I follow a few yards apart. We arrive at the perimeter walls of the facility. They stand sixteen feet tall, constructed of reinforced steel and crowned with barbed wire.

“That’s a big hole.” Viking says just as we arrive.

A gap in the wall about the size of an eighteen wheeler is punched through the perimeter. Plasma burns and melted metal rim the breach, making it clear what happened.

“Plasma charges.” I comment, and see Chance nodding his head.

“The ground forces arrived first, blew through and hit the facility to make way for the dropships.” Chance’s assessment is undeniably accurate. He pushes through the gap, cautiously raising his rifle to clear the corners. The rest of the squad follows.

At equal spacing across the outer wall are circular platforms upon which are mounted M71 emplacements, automated anti-aircraft rotary guns, similar to those mounted on the back of our Warthogs. One such emplacement is about twenty yards to our right, and the gun is lowered, drooping downwards, unpowered and inactive.

“Guns are down.” Wink says, motioning with her rifle. In the distance the crack of gunfire carries over the treetops.

“Any UNSC forces present at ODG B-242, this is ODST Kilo-Five, respond.” Chance motions for us to take up a wedge formation as he speaks. I do so, moving to the leftern wing and raising my rifle.

“This is Sergeant Killroy, base-sec for B-242. We’re reading you.” The Sergeant’s voice is strained, controlled panic deep in his gut and the sound of heavy plasma and rifle fire is heard in the background of his response.

“Killroy, this is Sergeant Chance, we’re at the perimeter fence South-West of the loading bay. What's your situation?”

“We’ve lost the control deck for the facility- God damnit, get fire on that plasma emplacement before we’re shredded!” The Sergeant pauses as shouts of alarm are heard. “The bastards keep dropping troops right on top of us!”

“What's your position?” Chance asks.

“We’ve been pushed out of the control room. We’re pinned down at the facilities’ main elevator, we’re trying to get the blast door shut so we can fall back but the damn things jammed. Listen, Chance, if you can’t get to the control room and get our AA back up there isn’t any point. They’re just going to keep coming. We need these dropships off our ass.”

Chance doesn’t bother responding, “Let's move.” He says, breaking into a run. “Naomi do you know where the control room is?” He asks.

She nods and wordlessly takes point, moving forwards, shoulders down and rifle pressed to her chest. I struggle to keep pace, but it gets easier the further into the facility we get. The woods and uneven terrain give way to metal and concrete as we break through the outer parmeter. Quick-fab buildings made of corrugated metal and cinder blocks are crowded around a central building, which is bunker-like in its appearance. Naomi hits a wall for cover, and looks out onto the center structure which is about 100 yards away. We fall in behind her, each of us smoothly taking up different zones of cover.

“What do you see?” I ask.

“The center building is the focus of the enemies’ attack.” Naomi replies. “They’re landing all their troops there. Five Spirits, more on the way.”

I peak past her armored shoulder and see a newly arrived Spirit disgorge a full squad of grunts and jackals onto the battlefield. One of them catches a bullet to the neck, spilling bright blue blood onto the ground but it doesn’t slow the alien’s advance. They’re pushing towards the open bunker, just inside of which is a loading bay large enough for a Pelican dropship. Past that I can see the squad of blue-uniformed base security troopers held up behind makeshift barricades in front of an industrial elevator that leads down into the bowels of the facility.

“What happens if they get to the elevator?” Viking asks.

“They cut the facility link and the big guns with big booms that defend our sorry asses no longer go boom.” Wink says.

“That’s bad, right?” Viking jokes.

Without a word Naomi moves out of cover, running alongside the buildings towards a watchtower near the back of the central bunker. I scramble to follow, keeping my head down and hoping our movement doesn't attract the attention of the Spirit’s main guns. Naomi makes it to the control tower’s door first unsurprisingly, and stores her weapon on her back.

“It's locked?” Chance asks.

“Cover me.” Naomi says. I watch as she presses her fingers to the center of the door and digs in, prying the metal outwards until she can get a proper grip. Then with a grunt of effort she slowly pulls the doors open from the center. The heavy locks sequel in protest as their upper limits are tested and succeeded, snapping the metal with a loud pop. The whole process takes only a few seconds and the door slides open. Naomi pushes inside, drawing her rifle as she moves into the relatively dark stairwell of the tower’s base.

I move in behind her, and Scratch behind me. Inside is a central reinforced column of steel and concrete upon which the tower is built. Around that is a metal-grated, industrial-looking stairwell that leads upwards into the control tower where the bases’ automated defenses and initial security measures are handled. We progress up the stairwell, our bootfalls echoing loudly on the metal, surely alerting the Covenant strike team if they are still here. I hear the guttural barks and croaks of the Elites as they realise what is happening and then the electronic whine of a plasma grenade being activated. The blue ball of sticky plasma drops down the stairwell from above and lands at my feet. Before I can react Naomi’s grabbed my breastplate and yanked me into her arms. She turns, putting her back to the grenade. It explodes with a deafening crack of released energy. An incredibly bright blue light washes through the stairwell. Naomi’s shields flare into existence before breaking apart with gold arches of discharge crackling across her armor.

“Naomi!?” I shout, staring at the blank visor pressed against my own.

She releases me, and my heart starts beating again as she moves past, ever upwards. I watch her backside as she grabs her discarded rifle and sprint up the stairs. Down below, Scratch is sprawled out in Viking’s arms, having been thrown back by the blast. The others are trying to push him upwards and back onto his feet. He’s cursing, irritated but unharmed, and struggling to get his footing once more.

“We gotta go!” I shout to the squad and move to follow Naomi.

I hear rifle shots and plasma before I get to the top of the stairs, and as I reach the control room I see Naomi charging into an Elite. She smashes her shoulder into the alien’s stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs and crushing him against a control console. She fires into the Elite’s chest a heartbeat later and before it knows what's happened it's already dead.

I scan the area and see three more Elites. One has a power sword in hand, the bright energy blade crackling as he advances on Naomi’s position. I aim and fire, the DMR barking angrily in my hands. The first shot bounces off the creature’s shielding, but the second hits him in the side, punching a hole through his lower abdomen and destroying his liver - assuming he has one. Only after do I realise my mistake, as the other Elite who is much closer to my position raises his plasma rifle towards my head. There isn’t enough time and I reflexively close my eyes and grit my teeth in anticipation of death.

Scratches’ shotgun roars next to my head, and pellets slam into the Elite’s rifle before it has a chance to fire, mangling the weapon beyond repair. I push forwards, giving him more room. Another blast from the shotgun sends purple blood spraying from the Elites chest as it falls backwards. Naomi has already impaled the Elite I had previously shot with his own energy sword which now juts out from his back. The final Elite is showered with shots from her assault rifle as she dumps the rest of her magazine into his shields. Several rounds breach, punching into the flesh beneath, and the alien howls in pain. I turn and fire into him, pumping a shot into his chest and the final into the side of his misshapen skull. The scream stops and the Elite clangs to the floor, dark blood pooling beneath him. Just like that, the room goes still.

Chance, Wink, and Viking file into the room, kicking their weapons away. The control room is a mess. Bodies are strewn about, not just the newly added Elites, but the remains of the traffic control team who worked here. Most have died trying to hide behind desks, chairs, or whatever else they could find. Naomi is already in front of the main console, hammering away at the keys.

“What's it look like?” I ask.

“System damage is minor, but damage to the power system is more extensive.”

“Do we have enough to get the guns online?” Chance questions, walking up alongside us and looking out the control tower’s window towards the Spirits, still hovering over the bunker’s main entrance.

Just then a groan croaks out followed by the garbled alien language. I whirl about to see the Elite who had previously been impaled speaking into his comms unit. Wink is the fastest, putting a bolt from her sniper through the back of the creature’s skull. We all turn to the window and watch breathlessly as the Spirits continue to hover… Then slowly turn towards our position.

“Shit.” Viking curses.

“We’ve got to go.” Chance says and moves towards the stairwell. I fall in, but Naomi is still at the console.

“Naomi, we’ve got to leave -- there's no cover from those turrets up here.”

She doesn't reply and I look back at Chance who has nothing to add, motioning for others to move down the stairwell. “Come on.” He says.

I shake my head and shoulder my rifle. I start to move to Naomi’s position, ready to cover her as best I can when she stops typing. Just as the dropships get in range the M71’s open up. Streams of yellow tracers slam into their sides, puncturing holes in the purple metal and causing colorful smoke to plume moments later. One Spirit drops immediately, dipping down and crashing into a warehouse roof. The others pull off, their engines straining as they gain altitude as rapidly as possible.

Naomi turns and regards me standing there for a moment, “Trust me.” She says, and pats me on the shoulder as she walks past.

As we head back down the stairwell Chance is trying to raise the Sergeant from earlier.

“Killroy, this is Chance, AA is back up and enemy dropships have pulled off, what's your situation?”

“Shit, that's good news but we had to pull back into the facility. I’ve lost too many men to hold the hanger and there's still Covenant forces pouring into the place. The elevator is compromised. I’m sorry we couldn’t hold them longer.”

“We’re on our way to your position.” Chance says but Killroy doesn’t reply.

“That's five dropships full of Covenant assault teams…” Wink comments. “No way we’re getting through that in time.”

“There is a maintenance stairwell,” Naomi interjects. “Here.”

On my HUD a digital overlay of the facility appears. The facility is about a hundred stories deep, with the generators located on the final 10. The main elevator shaft is the only practical access to the facility but a small, single stairwell links the lower levels to the surface probably due to safety regulations.

“We’ll need access codes.” Viking says.

“I got them from the console.” Naomi replies, a hint of pride coloring her voice. Always a few steps ahead.

“Then let's go.” Chance says.

***

It doesn’t take long to locate the service entrance, a thick security door in the side of the main bunker complex. Inside is a stairwell, endless in its appearance, sprially forever downwards into a black abyss. The shaft is lit by cold, white, fluorescent lights.

“I can’t even see the bottom.” Scratch says.

“Then you better get moving.” Chance replies.

Soon we’re ten flights down, all but sprinting, jumping over multiple steps at a time while trying not to trip. Naomi is of course keeping pace, effortlessly leading us down into the facility. I have a feeling she's moving slower than she needs to. Ten turns into twenty, and then twenty into thirty. I’m sweating, and I can hear Viking huffing with effort just in front of me.

“Keep moving.” Wink says back at him, as he slows at the top of one flight to catch his breath.

He nods, not having enough breath to make a quip of his own and drags himself down another.

“We’re not going to make it.” Scratch says between breaths.

It's already been ten minutes and we’re just crossing the halfway point.

“Don’t talk.” Chance says. Even he sounds winded.

Sweat is running down my brow when we finally reach floor eighty. A tremor ripples through the facility, just enough to cause Naomi to stop in her tracks. Her helmet perks up like a predator detecting danger. For a second all I can hear is my own breathing inside my helmet, and then the world descends into chaos. The explosion rips through the lower levels. Dust and debris falls onto us, chips of concrete flying from the walls. Above us the crack and crumble of compromised construction can be heard and Naomi’s voice roars over the radio.

“RUN!” She shouts.

A burst of energy rampages through my system as survival kicks in. I rush down the stairs, taking five steps at a time, and slamming myself into the walls at every plateau.

“We’re not going to fucking make it!” Viking howls.

All around us the sounds of destruction can be hard. Cracks run up the walls, more and more of the stairwell collapsing under its own weight. Ninety. Ninety-five. Five more flights! The lights go out, and I kick my headlamp on as does the rest of the squad. I see Naomi sprint ahead and I push harder, damn near tripping as I all but throw myself down the remaining flights. I crash down to the hundreth’s floor, and see Naomi. She’s already pried the door open and is waving me through. I throw myself into the hallway, hitting the ground hard and sliding a few feet. The rest follow and just as Viking’s feet clear the doorframe a chunk of rubble collapses down, sealing the stairwell.

Seconds later the facilities’ emergency lighting kicks on bathing us in red light, but even that flicks a few moments later, then dims and shuts off completely.

“Tell me that wasn’t what I think it was.” Viking says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“The generator has been destroyed.” Naomi says.

“Killroy, this is Chance, come in.” Nothing but static.

I push myself up by my knees, still trying to catch my breath as I look down the hall. The facility is almost medical in its appearance. Stark white walls and polished granite floors, with colored arrows painted with plain lettering inside them directing you to various areas in the facility.

“Command this is Kilo-Five, come in.” Chance presses a hand to the side of his helmet to try and hear something through the static.

I point my rifle towards the end of the hall, the flashlight attached to its barrel illuminating a plain metal door at its end. “What do we do?”

“I can’t raise anyone.” Chance says.

“Without the radio boosters this deep our coms unit cannot reach a receiver.” Naomi says.

“So what does that mean?” Viking asks.

“It means we’re trapped, and unless you’re really good at digging with your teeth, we’re not getting out the way we came in.” Wink motions with her rifle towards the blocked stairwell door.

“I can dig pretty fucking fast if it means I don’t die of dehydration.” Viking retorts.

“We should proceed to the main elevator shaft and assess the damage.” Naomi says, and without waiting for a reply she walks forwards with her rifle raised. I fall in behind her as does the rest of the squad in short order.

“You think the Covenant made it out?” I ask.

“It is likely,” she says, “but remain alert.”

Hallway after hallway we follow arrows towards the main generator and the elevator shaft linking it to the surface. Each time we reach a doorway we stack up and Naomi prys it open for us to clear. So far we haven't seen a single Covenant, or anybody for that matter.

“Here it is.” Chance says, looking down at the datapad on his wrist where he’s been manually tracking our progress through the facility. Naomi takes position, gripping the seal at the middle of the door and for one more time we stack up. She pulls open the heavy security door and I’m first through, rifle raised, with Viking and Wink right behind.

Dead bodies litter the atrium’s wide hallway, Covenant and base security alike. Elites clutching their wounds and men whose faces are contorted with the last moments of their agony. Down here there is little cover, and as a result the firefight simply turned into a slaughter. Each wave of Covenant that came down the elevator was met with a hail of fire, cutting their numbers down almost as soon as they arrived. But with every wave one or two of the defenders would fall, and soon it was too much. At the back of the hallway, in front of a door that has been cut open by plasma, is a large, muscular man. He has a dead Elite held to his chest, with his hand on a combat knife plunged into the alien’s neck.

“Fuck me…” Wink comments.

“They gave the Covenant hell.” Viking says, examining the body of the large man . “Looks like this is Killroy.” He points to a name stitched into the front of the large man’s uniforme, now splattered with blood from a charred hole in his chest.

I watch Naomi move past the scene and through the plasma cut doors that lead into the generator room. I follow and observe the destruction of our primary objective. The huge generators are fifty yards long and maybe twenty wide and they line the room. In the center of the room is a series of power converters attached to various cables and other equipment that transmits the power up through the rock and to the nearest relay station. A huge hole has been blown in the central tower, and from the looks of it, intentionally or not, caused a feedback surge that overloaded the generators.

“The overload was the second explosion. The big one.” I comment.

Naomi nods slowly. Each generator’s belly has been ripped outwards, exposing coils and electronics. The entire room has been doused in fire suppressant, thick white foam the same texture as whipped cream designed to fight electrical fires. It's the only reason the entire floor isn’t an inferno.

Viking walks up alongside us and the rest of the squad follows. “That doesn’t look good.” He comments.

“Scratch, assessment?” Chance asks.

He shrugs. “I can repair most things but this? No chance, Sarge.”

Chance shakes his head. “Don’t care about full repairs, not our job. What about getting us enough power to get that elevator working?” He points back through the atrium. It had occurred to me that without power there was no way to get back to the surface.

“I don’t know.” Scratch confessed.

Just then I remember the red lights that briefly appeared. “What about the backup generator? It came on _after_ the explosion.”

“Yeah and then shut off a handful of seconds later.” Wink grumbles.

“Could just be its missing oil or basic maintenance.” I say.

“Won’t know until we find it.” Scratch says.

“Here.” Chance interrupts, lifting his wrist so we can see what he’s pointing at on the datapad. “Access shaft off the East wing leads to a small backup generator underneath the main room.”

Scratch nods and beckons for Viking to follow. “We’ll check it out and get you a sitrep.”

“Ginger,” Naomi’s voice makes me look up and I see her leaving the room. “Let's check out the elevator.”

At the other end of the atrium there is a vast pit where the elevator would usually be. It looks like the Covenant hitched the last ride out of here. The shaft would also normally be sealed by a second set of blast doors, but those seem to have been damaged during the security team’s retreat. I look up and my flashlight can barely pierce the darkness even enhanced by my helmet’s night vision. A hundred stories is a lot deeper than it sounds. My legs throb, remembering the stairs.

“No ladder. I guess climbing is out of the question.” I sigh, though am not sure I’d have the strength to climb the distance even if there was a ladder. I wonder if a ladder would even be able to support Naomi’s weight?

“I wanted to thank you.” Naomi states.

I blink, trying to think of something I did worthy of thanks. So far all I can remember is Naomi saving my ass. “Umm, for what?”

“You chose to fire at the Elite approaching me instead of the one threatening your life. Then you were going to stay behind to try and cover me despite the likelihood of your death.”

I frown. I don’t feel either of those are worthy of thanks. The first one I did without thinking, and might as well have been considered a mistake, and the other well - I couldn’t just leave her to take on a small airforce on her own, could I?

“It really wasn’t…”

“Smart.” She finishes the sentence for me.

I breath in sharply, promptly inhaling my own spit. I start coughing. “Y-yeah.” I managed to croak between gasps. Naomi simply observes from behind the faceless helmet. I feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Thank you.” She repeats. “But I can take care of myself, and you’re going to end up dying trying to save me.”

I can’t really say she’s wrong. Hell, even when I’m doing it half the time I know it's just a pointless gesture. “Naomi I don’t do those things because you do or don’t need me, I do them because you’re family. You’re part of Kilo-Five. You’re part of our squad. I know you’re not a normal soldier but… All of us, Kilo-Five, ODST in general, we’re good at what we do because in the thick of it we don’t forget the people beside us.”

“The others don’t feel that way.” She says softly.

I frown. “They do, they’re just... “ I pause trying to word it carefully in my mind. “They just don’t see you like I do. They will with time but to them you’re still a Spartan. You don’t need them and that makes them uncomfortable.”

She looks at me for a long moment. “How do you see me?”

“As a human.” I reply without hesitation. “Just like us.”

She doesn’t reply, her helmet turning away to look back up the elevator shaft. The silence grows and I wonder if what I said properly communicated what I was trying to. I take a deep breath and sigh. “So are you still mad at me?”

Naomi turns back and I wish I could see those blue-grey eyes behind the silver visor. “Ginger…” She starts but before she can finish the bright white of a flashlight spills over us.

Chance approaches, coming up alongside Naomi’s flank and peering into the elevator shaft. “Scratch and Viking are down at the generator.” He starts, helmet light pivoting around probably looking for a maintenance ladder just as I had. “Says something about burnt out power coils. Good news, he can fix it. Bad news he’ll have to salvage parts from the other generators so there’s no telling how long it’ll take.”

“Do we have an estimate?” I ask.

“Anywhere from twelve hours to four days.” Wink comments, having just arrived behind Chance.

“Great.” I say sarcastically.

“Alright.” Chance claps his hands together. “Let's start stacking the bodies in the shaft. The Covenant ones. The security force we’ll lay out in the hallway connected to the atrium. We’ll sleep in the atrium.”

Wink nods and walks over to slap my shoulder. “Lets go, Ginger.”

I nod and follow her, leaving Naomi and Chance to talk about the plan.


	8. Breath

++Three Hours Since Last Contact with Kilo-Five++

I watch Viking and Wink toss the Elite’s body into the elevator shaft. The body vanishes into the darkness and a second later there is a loud thud along with a metallic clang of the alien’s armor hitting stone.

“They’re heavier than I thought.” Viking complains.

“I’m sure they’d say the same about you.” Wink teases.

“Hey - I’m dense! It's all this muscle.”

“Dense.” Scratch chuckles.

Just then Naomi walks up with two Elite’s under her arms, and tosses them effortlessly into the shaft. “That’s the last of them.” She says.

“You’ve got blood on you.” Viking points to a spot on her breastplate smeared with blue.

“Noted.” She says cooly. Wink, Scratch and myself all laugh.

“Alright, Kilo-Five…” Chance breaks up the conversation, walking into the middle of the group. “Here’s our initial scans.” On my datapad a series of scans appear detailing the local electrical layout. “We need to make repairs here, here, and here, at the junction boxes. They got overloaded during the surge.”

“Should be easy enough.” I say. “They’re bound to have replacement wires around here somewhere and if we’re lucky it's just a quick strip and switch job.”

Chance nods. “Right. Good to hear. Scratch you’ve got the bad news?”

“Yes Sergeant. Bad news is… the backup generator is trashed. Hasn’t been maintained - thing is obsolete and was due a retrofit that never arrived so our local engineers didn’t bother with the ol’ spit and polish. Coils are burnt, along with the contact points and transfer lines.”

“ETC?”

Scratch frowns, and rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly hard to say. What we need is all here but we’re gunna have to rip the main gens apart to get at ‘em. New coils and the like. Only problem is the power surge fried a lot of em so it's a gamble what we’ll find in each. I mean we could only be down here a few hours if the first gen we open has everything we need but -- realistically after the surge? It's real hard to say.”

Chance frowns, and I see him chewing the inside of her cheek. He does that when he’s in deep thought. “Alright, here’s the plan unless Naomi has anything to add?”

“No.”

“We’re going to establish a bivouac here. We need rest anyway. We’ll get some R and R, and take repair work in shifts. Ginger and Wink, start on those junctions. Scratch and Viking take stock of the backup genny and find out exactly what parts we need. Naomi, you okay to salvage the old gens for parts?”

“I will be able to do so.”

“She’s gunna rip the whole panel off like a superhero!” Viking mimcis a ripping motion in the air.

“I will try to be a bit more gentle than that.” Naomi retorts and everyone chuckles in response. 

“Alright, so that's the plan. Everyone ditch your armor, helmets, ‘n packs. Best to start conserving energy and water now. I’ll set up a sleeping area.”

***

++Thirty-One Hours Since Last Contact with Kilo-Five++

I crouch in the small, dark passageway leading to the backup generator. It's cramped, about four feet tall and four feet wide. I hover over Scratch’s shoulder where he’s hunched over a generator panel. We’ve been down here, underground, for twenty hours and it's still unclear much longer this is going to take. Most of us have stripped out of our armor, down to our plain black fatigues in an attempt to beat the heat. All except Naomi. The air in the ODG facility has become stuffy without new air being pumped down from the surface. Luckily the elevator shaft means we aren’t going to suffocate down here.

“Hand me the uhh -- spanner. The small one.”

I grunt, contorting myself around to the toolbox we found in a maintenance cabinet. The flashlight in my mouth moves chaotically as I try to focus the beam where I need it. Finally I managed to wrap my hands around the spanner and pass it forward. Scratch grabs the tool and repositions himself for a better angle, prompt hitting his head on a bracket above him.

“Ow! Mother fucker!” He rubs the back of his head. “You know,” He continues, irritation bristling in his voice. “I can see why they didn’t maintain this piece of shit.”

“Certainly a design oversight.” I agree.

Scratch scoffs, getting the spanner in place and removing another coil shielding panel from the generator. He’s forced to pass it backwards, awkwardly trying to position the flat metal plate past his legs. I grab hold and set it alongside the wall with the others.

“Too bad your Spartan isn’t here to help.” Scratch remarks, reaching into the generator and feeling around for the coil release lever.

“What do you mean?”

“It's not as though she could fit.” Scratch gives a harsh chuckle. “There a reason she won’t remove her armor?”

“How should I know?”

Scratch snorts. “It's no secret you’re close to her.”

“Closer than you, maybe.”

I hear the  _ ca-chunk _ of the release lever being pulled and Scratch sighs with satisfaction and he starts to wiggle the large cylinder free of the opening.

“Look,” he grunts, pivoting the coil on its side and slowly pulling it from the generator. “We’re just worried.”

“We?”

“Yeah, the squad. Wink too. Here - you got it?”

I grab the top of the coil as he passes it back, and we both start hobbling backwards before setting the coil gently down on the floor. The passageway is even more crowded with spare parts than it had been when we first arrived. A veritable minefield of burnt and discarded equipment.

“What's there to worry about?” I ask, already partially knowing the answer.

Scratch sighs, catching his breath and pausing to properly address me. “She’s a Spartan, Ginger. You know what they’re like. They aren’t people, they’re weapons. She’s mission first, always will be, and when they go off people get hurt. Even allies.”

“Oh come on…”

“You know what happened just like I do, don’t pretend you don’t know the stories. Three dead ODST troopers, killed in a fucking gymnasium while sparring. Why? Because Spartans aren’t people. They’re tools, man.” Scratch grimaces at me, waiting for a response I don’t have. “I’m not saying Naomi is a bad person, it's just… She’ll throw us away if she’s ordered to. You know that. Spartans are loyal to the mission, not to soldiers.”

I look down at the floor and rub my eyes. I nod.  _ I do. _ Scratch reaches out and grabs my shoulder, giving me a gentle, reaffirming shake.

“Just don’t throw your life away for someone who won’t even understand why you’re doing it, alright?” He grins. “Save that for me, so I can live and your noble sacrifice will mean something.”

I chuckle. “You’re an ass.”

He nods. “Maybe, maybe.” He turns back towards the generator. “Go tell Viking we’re ready for the new coil. And have his fat ass bring it this time, we’ve been down here for hours, it's time he suffers too.”

I nod and give him a slap on the back which he acknowledges with a nod, and then turn, making my way back through the passageway to the service ladder that leads back into the atrium. After exiting the cramped maintenance hatch I realise how stiff my muscles have become, and stretch my back, feeling several vertebrae crack with released tension. Back in the atrium Viking is standing at the entrance to the main generator room, a freshly scavaged coil at his feet. He’s talking with Wink, who looks unimpressed by whatever story he’s telling.

“Viking,” I say, waving him down. “Scratch needs the coil. It’s also your turn to sweat in the tunnel.”

Viking turns and frowns but nods a second later. “Alright. Back to it I guess.” He bends down and grabs the metal cylinder with both hands, grunting as he lifts it. “Talk later, Wink.”

“Yu-hu.”

I watch Viking head off towards the maintenance hatch, whistling to himself.

“What was that about?” I ask.

Wink shrugs. “You know Viking, he gets chatty when he’s worried we’ll die.”

“And you?”

“I get quiet.” She smirks. “You eat yet?”

I shake my head. “Haven’t had the chance.” 

“Chance hooked up a burner to a small hand battery. Hot MREs, yum yum.” The sarcasm drips from her words.

“Has Naomi had anything?”

Wink looks towards the Spartan whose standing at the far end of the antrium, still clad head to toe in her blue armor. “Don’t think so.” She pauses and I see Wink chew on her bottom lip in thought.

“Whats up?”

“You know how Chance and I used to be a thing?” Wink says bluntly, her green eyes wandering over my face.

“Yeah…” I say, unsure exactly where this is going.

“We broke up years ago. I was the one who - you know. Did the breaking.” I watch a small smirk tug at the corner of her thin lips. “I realised that he couldn’t be my Sergeant and my lover. Not at the same time. Not without - I just couldn’t do it.” She shrugs.

“Don’t blame you.”

“Mmm.” I see her eyes narrow for a moment as her mind mulls over whatever she’s trying to say. “Sometimes it's best to just accept the way things have to be, and not try to… push. Let people be who they are, you know?”

“I’m just bringing her food…”

Wink grins. “I know.”

I sigh and shake my head. “Thanks for the talk. The world is just… so much clearer now.”

She laughs, and I chuckle before walking towards our impromptu camp. We’d previously drug various boxes and crates from around the facility into a small circle as chairs, with jackets and maintenance suits laid out as makeshift cushions. In the center of the circle is a hand-held lantern and next to it a small electric stove hooked up to a hand-crack charger. Chance is sitting on one of the boxes, hunched over the stove.

“Hey, Sarg.”

“Ginger.”

“Heard you’ve got some chow?”

“Mmhm. Number 302 - Meat stew with vegetables.” He removes the small pot from the burner and pours a serving into a tin cup form one of our kit bags. “How you holding up?”

“I’m alright, Sir, just uhhh… waiting for Scratch to do his job.”

Chance lets out a breath from his nostrils, a grin cracking across his rugged face. “Any ETC on that?” He asks.

“We’re getting close. Should be… maybe another twenty hours? Almost all the coils are replaced, but we’ve still got a few too go and they’re in a hard to reach place but he’s going to need to wire the panel back up and that's tedious as hell.”

Chance nods, grabbing a canteen and taking a swig of water. “Guess we’re sleeping here again - be sure to get some rest. We’ll need to be ready when we hit topside.”

“I will be, Sir.”

“Good.” He says, and offers me the tin.

I take the cup and make my way past the small circle and towards the far end of the antrium. Naomi is standing there, arms folded across her chest and helmet staring into the black maw of the elevator shaft.

“Hey,” I say, extending the cup of soup. “Got you some food.”

She shifts, helmet gazing sideways, an air of apprehension about her. “I’m fine.”

I look at the tin and shrug my shoulders. “It isn’t that bad, promise.” I smile but she doesn’t respond and I clear my throat, following her gaze into the elevator shaft. “You know uhhh… You really should eat. We’re going to be right back in it when we get topside.”

I think I hear a faint sigh and she turns away, moving over to the side of the room and sitting down against the wall. I follow her, and watch as her armored hands move to her helmet. There is a hiss of releasing pressure and a heavy  _ chunk _ as whatever locking mechanisms secure the helmet are triggered. I extend the tin of food once more and sit down beside her.

“Thanks.” She says, her voice even softer without the electronic amps of her helmet.

“No problem.”

For a moment there is calm and the only sound is that of her spoon scraping the sides of the tin, accompanied by delicate chewing. It's almost comforting and I close my eyes to take in the moment. How many days has it been since we landed on Reach? Two weeks? A month? Without the display from my helmet I’ve forgotten entirely.

“Ginger,” Naomi’s voice breaks the quiet, and I open one eye.

“Hrm?”

“What you said before, about me being human…”

“What about it?”

“Did you mean it?”

I can feel my brows furrowing as confusion plays across my face. “What? Of course I meant it, what kind of question is that?”

Naomi shrugs. “I don’t know.”

There is a long pause and I find myself staring at the side of her face. Her jawline is angular, as are most of her features. Helmetless it's easy to forget what she is, and imagine her as maybe a young lawyer or medical student, on the cusp of changing the world. The corner of her mouth pulls up into the faintest smile.

“You’re staring.” She says.

I blink and then force myself to look away. “Sorry.”

“Is it the scars?”

“Scars?”

She looks at me, eyes narrowed. “Don’t pretend.”

I look back at her, and the medical scarring that covers her face. I had forgotten about them. The lines, far too precise to have been made by any human’s hand, frame her face in efficient, geometric designs. She is a work of art produced by a machine, a sculpture flawlessly carved yet without the emotion of an artist behind it. There really is no limit to human cruelty. “I honestly had forgotten about them.”

She snorts, unbelieving, and hands me back the empty tin. “We could die on this planet, you know.”

I nod. “I know.”

“Then when are you going to tell me the truth?”

“About?”

“About you. Who you are, why you’re here?” Naomi puts her hands on her knees, casually eyeing me up and down. Previously I hadn’t noticed the fact that she towers over me by a good foot and a half now that we’re seated. I suddenly feel quite small.

“I don’t know.” I confess. It's the truth. If I tell her everything I want to, I'm committing myself to a death on Reach. I know what ONI does to people who give up their secrets. They don’t just die, or have an accident, they vanish. They disappear so thoroughly it's as if they never even existed. What a horrible fate, to be robbed of everything that made you, you. To have even your memory taken from the world.

“Do you remember when you asked me how you could show me I can trust you?”

I frown. “Of course, but if I recall you said you already did.”

“I do. But should I? Tell me if it's safe to trust you.” Her eyes are steely and serious as she looks into my own, and I know this question is the single most important one she’ll probably ever ask me. My heart is hammering in my chest so loud I can barely think.

“I won’t hurt you.”  _ I promise. _

She smirks, her eyes bright with new energy. “I’ll hold you to that.”

We sit in silence for a moment, each of us swimming in their own thoughts. Then Naomi shifts and her armored arm goes over my shoulder. She pulls me into her, so that my head is resting against the side of her breastplate. It isn’t the most comfortable position but I don’t care.

“You should get some sleep.” She says quietly.

I smile and close my eyes. For the first time since we dropped onto Reach I realise I feel safe, and sleep comes quickly.

***

++Forty-Two Hours Since Last Contact with Kilo-Five++

The blacked out van comes to a halt with a jerk of harshly applied breaks. Cross to my right grunts with annoyance. I check my chronometer and the cold, blue numbers blink a steady 2:32am. The van’s back doors open and the team steps out into the early morning darkness. Cross and Whitney are behind me, each of us dressed head to toe in black fatigues devoid of markings or designation. The new CH252’s night vision optics bathing the world in a sickly dull green.

The calm yet stern voice of Command comes over the coms. “Firebrand you’ve got the green light.”

“Roger.” I reply. “I’ve got point.”

I motion for my team to take position at my flanks. In front of us is the target, a modern style home with tall glass windows and vaulted wood beams, set on a small outcropping of the cities’ bay. A waterside view, with plenty of sun in the afternoon. It wouldn’t have looked out of place on a postcard. We move forward, no time to sight-see. The house is gated, a black wrought-iron fence stretching around the property.

“Gate.” I say over the radio.

“Security system down… Now.” Command’s efficiency was next to none. Two other teams were being coordinated, one to strike the local security node and a backup team a block away in case of complications.

Our footfalls sound up the paved driveway and we break left around the back of the house. I step over a garden hose someone’s left in the yard next to a bed of well manicured tulips. Through another sidegate and we’re in the back yard, closing in on the target.

“Door.” Cross points and I nod.

“Stack up, Cross take point.”

The man nods and pushes past my shoulder, moving to the door with Whitney in tow. The two flank the door and raise their rifles, although we shouldn’t need them. I crouch down and remove the datapad from my pant’s pocket. The door’s lock is electronic and with a few taps on the pad I’ve sent the mastercode and the top of the lock switched from red to green.

“First door on the left. Go.”

Inside the wood floors of the modern-colonial styled home make our entry louder than I’d like, but the parent’s room is down the hall and the door is shut. Hopefully that's enough. Cross reaches the target’s door and places his hand on the bar-handle. I nod and he opens it. Whitney stays in the hall, and myself and Cross press into the room. We both shoulder our weapons as we approach the bed and Cross tears away the covers to reveal nothing at all. I stare at the bed for a half second, confusion swirling. Before I have a chance to call it in, Cross lets out a cry of alarm as a feet sweeps out from under the bed and sends him crashing to the floor.

“Shit!” He blurts, as a blur of motion rolls away and sprints for the door.

“Whitney, she’s coming your way!” I call over the radio, but the girl’s already slipped by and is dashing down the hall.

I leave Cross on the floor and sprint after the target. Whitney follows, and we run out into the back yard. She’s gone.

“You go left!” I order, breaking right to follow the garden around the side of the house. “Command, target is lost. I repeat, the target has fled Firebrand and is missing. Need backup.”

“Roger that, Firebrand. All teams move in and secure the area.”

“What about the clone?” Blue team asks.

“Proceed with insertion.”

As I hit the front of the house I see Blue team exiting their own van, a simply dressed little girl, five years old, held in their leader’s arms. It's the same girl I’m chasing - well a cheap imitation anyway.

“Good job, Ellis.” The man jokes as I pass him. I don’t reply.

Once again I’m at the front of the house, and I see Whitney approach from the other side. She shakes her head, and Cross rushes up behind her, head looking around.

“Sweep the area.” I call. “She can’t have gotten far.”

It takes a while of combing through bushes and flower beds before I finally see a scrap of white cloth sticking out from the underside of a large fern at the borner of the property. I don’t radio it in, for fear of alerting the girl to my position, and lunge forwards snatching at the cloth. It comes away freely, and I realise it's another trick as a foot collides with the side of my helmet. The strike is admirable, but coming from a five year old it's just not enough. I grab hold of her ankle and yank her out of the bush. She hits the grass with a dull thud and screams.

“Target located. South side of the property.” I call before placing my gloved hand over her mouth. The girl bites down on one of my fingers but I ignore the pain and keep the hand where it is as she thrashes.

“The clone is in place. Blue team heading for exfil.”

I see Cross and Whitney running over, with Whitney having already retrieved plastic restraints from her waist.

“Stop struggling.” I say firmly. The girl stares up at me with eyes not full of fear, but anger. The blue-grey orbs are full of intelligence far beyond the girl’s years and for a second a feeling of dread passes through me. Cross arrives, skidding on his knees as he drops beside us. He removes a strip of tape from his pocket and gives me a nod. I remove my hand from her mouth and Cross moves to put the tape over her mouth.

“I’ll remember you.” She says right as her lips are sealed.

I place a black bag over her head hiding her expression, then I flip her over and Whitney secures the girl's hands behind her back with the zip tie. 

“Feisty one.” Cross comments.

I nod, hauling the girl up onto her feet. “Firebrand has the target and is proceeding to exfil.”


	9. Operation: Uppercut

The massive industrial elevator squeals as the large gears start to rotate and climb ever upwards. I look up the shaft and watch the red warning lights flicker on and off due to the reduced power output of the backup generator. Our total time spent underground was fifty hours. Two days, and some change. To me it feels like longer, and the dream of the previous night still clings to the corners of my mind. It wasn’t a restful sleep and even now I feel like going back to bed for another six hours.

I look over at the team as the elevator continues to rise. Viking looks tired as well, but the others seem in good spirits, even energetic. I’m sure the two of us will chipper up when we have something to focus on. Naomi is, as always, an unreadable wall. She shows no signs of fatigue but I’m not sure how much that means. I can’t tell if she even got any sleep during our internment below. When I woke up covered in a cold sweat she was already awake with an arm around me in comfort. After I had calmed down she gave me a gentle squeeze, then put her helmet back on and just like that we were back to work. I appreciate the fact she knows when not to pry. Most soldiers do, I guess.

Chance breaks my train of thought and his voice refocuses me on the mission at hand. “Command this is Kilo-Five, do you copy?”

Static. The elevator arrives at the top floor with a ‘ca-chunk’ of locking gears and we see the remains of the battle that had transpired in the hanger two days prior. Security personnel lay dead behind makeshift barricades cobbled together from shipping boxes, maintenance trolleys and whatever scrap metal and tools could be gathered. One man cradles a satchel charge to his chest, having bled out before he was able to use it. Scratch bends down and removes it, tucking the explosive away into his pack. As we walk past the barricade Chance makes another call to command as we step over the bullet-riddled corpse of an Elite still clutching the hilt of a power sword. Grunts and jackals litter the hanger, at least four fire-teams worth of Covenant. It had taken them more than they’d bargained for I image, but at the end of the day they were victorious.

“Kilo-Five this is UNSC Command, report current position and status.”

“Kilo-Five is currently combat ready and waiting for a new task assignment. Reporting failure of previous mission. ODG B-242 is scrapped. We’re still on-site, over.”

“Roger that Kilo-Five, you were listed as KIA. I’m taking you off the roster and putting you back on active duty. Wait one.”

Scratch chuckles. “Always wanted to be a dead man.”

“A lot of people are.” Wink adds, and Scratch’s good mood becomes a little more somber.

“Kilo-Five this is ONI HQ, do you copy?”

Chance hesitates. “Roger, clean copy, over.”

“A pelican is enroute, your orders are to fly to New Alexandria. You’re looking for Olympic Tower. Currently VIP assets are on-site preparing to evacuate to a more secure location. We expect Covenant strike-teams to hit the area. How copy?”

“Good copy. Kilo-five to New Alex via pelican, secure VIP assets and assist evacuation. Roger.”

“Good hunting, Kilo-Five, and good to have you back. Out.”

We move outwards onto the landing and loading area for the base, the place where the Covenant had dropped their strike teams via Spirits before.

“New Alexandria, hu?” Viking comments, as each of us scans the sky for the black spec that would be our dropship. “If they’re reaching out with Strike Teams there the Covenant haven’t lost ground, they’ve gained it.”

“That is correct.” Naomi reports. “The Covenant  CSO-class Supercarrier ‘ _ Long Night of Solace’ _ is still active and has currently retreated into orbit above the planet.”

I assume whatever links her armor has to the sec-net has her syphoning after action reports to bring herself up to date.

“The navy hasn't engaged?” Wink asks.

“It appears not. The Covenant have continued to receive reinforcements after the destruction of the UNSC Grafton. A naval engagement was deemed too costly.”

“Too costly? What's that supposed to mean?” Viking grumbles. “We’re going to lose the planet if we don’t actually fight the damn enemy.”

“It means that if we fought them now we’d lose.” Chance says with an authoritative tone. “They’re waiting for a weakness. Just like we would if we were engaging an enemy that outnumbered us. Wait for the right time to strike.”

“Or waiting for something else.” Wink says cooly.

Just then I spy the incoming Pelican coming in over the western ridge. “Eyes up.” I say, pointing towards the growing black silhouette.

Scratch reaches down and fishes a flare out of his pocket. He kneels down and strikes it against the concrete, setting the tip ablaze with bright, red light. Conversation dies down as we wait for the dropship to arrive and land. Once aboard we each take our traditional positions, and Naomi sits down beside me staring rear-ward towards the open back of the pelican.

“Taking you ladies to New Alex, right?” The pilot calls over the coms.

“Yep.” Chance says casually, and sits down with a grunt.

“Hey, Pilot-” Scratch starts.

“Mark.” The man replies with a chuckle. I feel the Pelican rumble as the large thrusters kick in and propel us upwards off the ground.

“Mark… We’ve been MIA for a few days. What’s the ground war look like?” 

“Not great.” He pauses, presumably focused on pivoting the aircraft Northward towards New Alexandria. “Covie forces have been trading blows way better than I think command expected. We’ve had to give up the outer FOBs. I flew evac for Sword base only a day ago.”

I sigh, and rest my forearms on my knees, cradling the DMR in my lap. The news isn’t welcome - if ONI is starting to lose installations like Sword the situation is probably worse than we know.

“What about New Alex?” Scratch continues.

“City is a war zone.” The pilot replies. “We’ve been evacing civilians ever since  Szurdok Ridge but the damn covies are firing on anything leaving the city, civilians or not. Even unarmed shuttles are blown out of the sky. Falcons are doing their best to fly air cover but it isn’t pretty. I guess you’ll see for yourself pretty soon.”

This is the reality of this conflict. A war of extermination, a war for the right to exist. It isn’t about combatants or non-combatants, not to the covies. We’re all just humans, and a human killed is one step closer to ultimate victory. 

“James,” Naomi’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. My chest feels tight and I take a deep breath to relieve the tension. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, just eager to get back to the fight.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make a difference.”

I smile.  _ A difference _ . “Hopefully things go smoother this time?” I joke.

***

We’ve been flying steady for almost half an hour when the Pelican suddenly jerks right and I feel the crash-straps holding me to my seat bite into my shoulder. I look around in confusion.

“Shit, we’ve got bogies on our tail!” The pilot calls over the radio. “Can’t shake ‘em!” His voice is hard and focused. The ship judders and a blue bolt of plasma burns through the closed back door and shoots up into the ceiling.

Chance hits the release on his harness and stands up, grabbing the handrail to stabilize himself. “Mark, any nearby support?”

“Already tried! Falcons are on their way but it’ll be a minute. Brace!”

I grit my teeth as the Pelican jerks left, rolling almost to a 90 degree angle. G’s hit my chest as the aircraft pulls into a sharp bank.

“Hold on.” Naomi says, and stands up. She grabs her rifle and slaps the red ramp release button. “Pilot, keep steady.”

“We’ll be a sitting duck!” Mark protests.

The ramp slowly lowers and I see that we’re in the middle of the war torn streets of New Alexandria. Skyscrapers and office buildings whip by as the three Banshees scream after us, their unnatural howls filling the air. Naomi raises her rifle, her boots keeping her magnetically locked to the floor of the Pelican, and opens fire.

“Back her up, Kilo-Five!” Chance calls, holding on with one hand and tucking his rifle under his armpit. He opens fire, and we all join in. Each of us takes a position braced against whatever we can find, and dump shot after shot towards our pursuers. My DMR kicks against my shoulder but at this speed and with the Pelican dipping and darting around buildings and crumbled city blocks most of my shots go wide. The smaller Banshees are only a little bigger than a compact car, and hitting them is difficult enough when you’re not bumping around.

“Target lock, target lock!” The pilot shouts, yanking the stick to try and avoid the incoming blast. I fall to the ground, holding onto Naomi’s leg with one arm as the G’s kick in once more. I see the green blast leave one of the Banshee’s and trail towards us, curving to match the Pelican’s meanurvers. I grit my teeth and the plasma streaks past and hits the side of the Pelican outside of my view. The dropship lurches, dipping to the left, its stubby wings losing thrust immediately.

“Engine out!” Mark calls from the cockpit.

Naomi shifts her position and continues to fire. One of the Banshee’s erupts into purple smoke and flame. Whatever the Spartan hit was apparently important, as the fighter drifts sideways before colliding into the side of an office building. A gout of multicolored flames explodes out from the contact point.

“Yeah!” Scratch calls, bracing himself against a seat and continuing to fire at the remaining two targets.

Blue plasma from the two Banshee’s main guns starts pelting the back of the Pelican as they react to the threat we now pose. Two bolts impact Naomi’s armor, her gold shielding faring into life. I see another stream of fire march its way across the floor and hit Chance in the side of the breastplate. He is sent backwards, and sprawls against the cargo bays' floor. Wink is quickly at his side, grabbing the handle of his chest rig and dragging him backwards to relative safety.

“We’re losing altitude!” The pilot shouts.

I feel the Pelican shutter and groan as Mark tries to pull up on the stick in a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable. The two Banshees split and wave off, not bothering to pursue prey that was clearly already dead. I look out the back and see the office buildings growing taller as the ground gets closer and closer. I start to see street light’s and then Naomi is on top of me. I feel her arms wrap around my chest and she pins me to the floor.

“BRACE!” Mark calls over the radio and then it begins.

The first thing is a terrible, bone-jarring shutter as the bottom of the craft makes contact with the pavement. Next the loud screech and groan of metal tested beyond its breaking point. The back of the Pelican drops down hard, and something collides with the left side of the left wing, probably the wreckage of a burnt-out car abandoned on the road. We start sliding sideways and then the tails slam into a building. The impact causes my vision to swim as the craft screams with rending metal. It continues to slide into a sideways position and then the broken wing catches on the road. The dropship starts to roll. The world does somersaults before my eyes, as the ceiling of the cargo bay buckles dowards under the stress. Three complete rotations later and the momentum of the initial crash is spent. A handful of yards later and the wreck comes to a halt with a hiss of cooling engines.

Naomi releases me from her grasp and stands up, shoving a crate that had come loose from the cargo nets above. I hear screaming, and look around. Each of us is scattered, laying in crumpled piles in various positions. Viking is the only one of us who managed to buckle his crash harness in time. I watch him unstrap and collapse to the floor.

“My weapon! Anyone see it?!” He shouts in confusion.

Wink is already trying to drag a limp Chance from the wreckage. “I need help!” She calls, and I crawl forwards before getting onto my feet. I grab hold of Chance’s arm and pull him towards the exit.

“Get his gun!” I tell Viking who's looking around aimlessly.

“Where is it!?”

“It's against the seat! Just grab whatever!” I see him nod and bend down, shoving boxes and debris out of the way to try and find a weapon. The screaming is still happening but I can’t focus on that now. I focus on dragging Chance. We manage to get him off the ramp and down a pile of rubble caused by the crash.

“Put him on that bench.” Wink instructs, and I help lift the Sergeant into position.

Chance starts to cough, and groans in pain. “What happened?”

“I’m going back for Scratch.” I say, not waiting for a reply as I dash back to the Pelican. Viking is exiting the back with several weapons slung over his shoulder and a canister of biofoam clutched in one hand. His helmet pans wildly, searching the crash site. “Where's Scratch?” I call.

“He’s trying to get the pilot out.” Viking says, “Where’s the Sergeant?”

“Over there. He might need that biofoam.” I point to the bus stop bench where I’d deposited him some ten yards away. I duck down into the rear of the Pelican. At the back of the cargo bay I see Scratch at the door with a piece of discarded pipe in both hands. He has it jammed into the door that leans into the cockpit and is trying to leverage the door open. I approach and grab hold of the other side of the bar, pushing to try and help unstick the door. The screaming must be the pilot, or the copilot. After seconds of shoving with no progress I examine the door. It's bent into the frame, the metal twisted at a strange angle that makes opening it likely impossible without some super human assistance.

“Have you seen Naomi?” I grab Scratch by the shoulder. He shakes his head. “The doors bent!” I point at the frame. “We can’t get it open without her.”

Just then I hear a pipe burst and a hissing fills the cargo bay. A dull roar fills the air as what I assume was the fuel line catches fire and starts filling the cargo bay with flame.

“We can’t stay!”

“Okay…” Scratch says between grit teeth, but shoves at the bar one more time.

“Scratch we have to leave.” I pull at the man’s arm and after a moment of resistance he relents. As we exit the back of the craft a steady booming, like an impact hammer, fills the air. I look around for the source but can’t find anything. “Go check on Chance.” I instruct Scratch, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing towards their position. “They need to move him away from the crash before the fuel lines ignite the tanks.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to find Naomi.” I move off towards the hammering sound. Around the side of the aircraft I can see the true extent of the damage. The left wing is a mangled, twisted mess, and its engine has a burning hole in the top of it from where the Banshee’s plasma cannon hit. The paint has all been scrapped away from the sides and top of the Pelican, revealing a bright aluminum coating beneath the drab green.

“Naomi!” I call out, making my way to the front of the aircraft. I see her blue armor standing at the cockpit, her hand drawn back. She slams a fist into the side of the cockpit and I realise what the hammering sound has been. I rush up to her side, “What are you doing?”

She doesn’t answer, and continues to punch at the side of the aircraft. Past the window I can see the pilot, his hand clutching a bloody wound at his neck. The co-pilot is bent over him, trying to work something just below where Naomi is punching. She looks up at me with panicked eyes.

“The emergency release isn’t working!”

I eject the magazine from my DMR and stuff it into my waistband, then yank the charging handle a few times. I slam the butt of the rifle against the window, but I know the reinforced glass is likely thicker than I have the strength to get through. Naomi continues to pound her fist against the side where the pins hold the cockpit together. The metal is starting to bend when the fuel lines rupture completely. Flame spills into the cockpit, licking at the copilot’s uniform. Mark, the pilot, isn’t moving and the hand that was clutching his neck has fallen away.

“No!” The woman screams, frantically pulling the emergency release lever again and again. I slam my rifle against the window with all my strength but it’s pointless. Naomi draws her fist back once more but stops and grabs me instead. I look at her faceless visor and the helmet shakes back and forth. I turn back and look at the copilot, at Mark’s dead body, figuring in some horrible way I at least owe them that, to at least acknowledge my failure to their faces. She screams, her panicstricken face stained with tears quickly drying in the intense heat as more and more fuel-fed fire fills the cockpit. I turn away and start printing. Just as we clear the distance the fuel tanks explode and the Pelican is engulfed with flame.

We arrive at the squad’s position to see Chance standing, propped up against the side of a building with one arm draped over Wink’s shoulder. When Naomi and I arrive Scratch takes a step forward, looking back at the crashed dropship. His helmet droops slightly, acknowledging what happened, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Sergeant, report status.” Naomi orders.

“He’s fine.” Wink replies.

Chance waves her away, pushing himself off the building with a grunt of pain. “Banged up and bruised, but operational, ma’am.”

“Lets get on task then.” She says with a nod.

“Roger that.” Chance replies, and motions for Scratch to pass him a rifle. He does so, and with a deep breath he racks the weapon and signals the others to fall in. “We’ve been through worse, Kilo-Five. ODST get the job done. Lets move out. Naomi, you got the navpoint?”

The Spartan nods, and raises an armored hand. “Two miles Northwest. I’ll take point.”

***

New Alexandria is in ruins. Cars are stopped in the street, some sporting plasma burns and small caliber bullet holes. Others are husks, having caught fire at some point during the ground war and with no fire response teams still active, were simply left to burn away. Most of the buildings are still intact though, as the Covies haven't been in a position to commence heavy bombing or glassing campaigns. Yet.

As we move through the streets we stay low, moving from cover to cover, keeping our angles secured as we progress ever onwards. Olympic Tower is one of the tallest scrapers in the city, and lies at the end of a main thoroughfare. As we turn onto the boulevard I can see the large structure looming over us like a titan’s leg. We’re still a mile or so away when Wink breaks the silence.

“Movement, sixty, under the bridge.”

We stop and take cover. I look to the right, across the street from our current position. There is a pedestrian walkway that leads up over the boulevard and acts as a bridge crossing between a courtyard filled with now-closed restaurants, and a collection of office buildings. Under the walkway is the entrance to an underground parking garage, where a sign hangs limply from the side of a concrete. It reads ‘PUBLIC PARKING.’

“In the garage?” Chance asks.

“Yeah. It was just a flicker.”

“I’ll make the call.” Viking says, clearing his throat. “FLASH!” He bellows across the street.

I press the butt of my rifle to my shoulder and aim at the garage entrance, expecting a hail of plasma rifle fire to answer the challenge. Instead a woman’s head pops out from around a concrete pillar and looks towards us.

“What?!” The woman shouts back.

“Let’s move.” Chance orders. Once more we go from cover to cover until we’re across the street and making the last sprint into the relative safety of the garage entrance. I notice immediately that we’ve stumbled across an impromptu shelter.

It's the woman who stuck her head out before that asks the question first. “You’re with the UNSC?” She’s dressed in a NAPD riot uniform, the bold, white letters ‘POLICE’ written across the front of her vest.

“Yes.” Chance confirms, though technically that isn’t true anymore.

“Oh thank God.” She says, letting out a visible sigh of relief. There are five officers in total, each gathered around the entrance to the garage and hiding behind various bits of cover. I notice they’ve even managed to block most of the entrance off with one of their squad cars. “The squad that was supposed to help us get to an evacuation site were called off on urgent orders. They told us to sit tight here but that was hours ago. I’m afraid if we don’t leave soon we’ll miss our ride.” The other officers nod in agreement.

“Can’t do much about that.” Chance confesses, “We’ve got orders to go to Olympic Tower.” I notice he sounds more ragged than usual, and his breathing is heavier.

“How many are you?” Viking asks.

“Thirty or forty?” The woman continues. “Not including myself and the other officers. It's all civilians we pulled from the offices around here. People who didn’t make it out in time with the main evac transports.”

Viking turns to Chance. “We could radio it in, wait here for their evac and then proceed on to the tower. Couldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes to get a Pelican here.”

“We can’t wait here.” Naomi says over our squad’s private comms. “We’re already delayed. No time.”

Chance nods. “What's your name, officer?”

“Oh, sorry! I’m Julia - I mean Officer Viccars.” She strikes a sloppy salute that makes me chuckle.

“Right. Officer Viccars we’re going to call in a Pelican for extract. Here, take this flare. Take two officers with you and in ten minutes get on top of that walkway. When you see the dropship pop the flare. Got it?”

“Got it. You’re not coming with us?”

“Negative, but don’t worry. We came from down the boulevard and we haven’t seen any Covenant. You should be safe.”

Naomi is already moving to the side, preparing the leave. I fall in behind her, and the rest soon follow. I watch Chance exchange a handshake with Viccars and then we’re marching down the street once more.

“Feels weird not being able to help with the evac.” Viking comments.

“If you wanted to do that you should have joined the marines.” Scratch chuckles.

“I did at first, but I wanted to kick ass instead of kiss ass, so the ODST seemed like a better choice.” I can hear the grin in Viking’s voice.

“You’re a pair of idiots, you know that?” Wink grunts as she hits the side of an abandoned sedan, and props her rifle up on the hood. 

“We know.” They both reply. 

It takes us another ten minutes of carefully picking our way through cars and rubble before we arrive at Olympic Tower. As we’re closing in, however, the unique electronic rumble of a Covenant dropship echoes through the buildings. I look up and see the beetle-like hull of a Phantom shoot past us. It arcs upwards towards the top of Olympic tower.

“Double time.” Chance says.

As we arrive I see the front of the building has been fortified with sandbags, quick-fabs and what looks like a long range radio tent. Several warthogs with their main guns manned by black-dressed ONI troopers are parked behind vehicle barricades ready to fire on any Covenant force stupid enough to approach via the main boulevard.

“Friendlies incoming.” Chance radios as we come out from cover and close in on the friendly position. Once behind the lines we’re greeted by a middle-aged man with a thick, broom mustache and matching bushy eyebrows.

“You Kilo-Five? We heard you’d be coming.”

“Roger. Sitrep.”

“Lower floors are cleared but the Covenant have cut us off about half-way up the tower. They’re landing cruisers alongside the building and dropping troops directly in.” He points upwards, and I can barely make out the flickering lights of a Covenant Phantom that's pulled up alongside the tower itself.

“They’re cutting the building in half,” Wink says, “Preventing reinforcements as they push upwards towards the VIP.”

“What about evac?” Chance asks.

The man shakes his head. “Pelicans can’t get close with all the Banshee’s flying about. We’re keeping them away from the tower with the Warthogs but the bigger ships are flying right past. I’ve sent whatever I can up the tower, but I figure anymore and they’ll start landing right in front of us and then we’ll be caught between a rock and a plasma grenade.”

Viking nods, as do I. I think the man’s done good for the situation. Without reinforcements options are definitely limited. Good thing we have a Spartan.

“Alright, keep the lobby secured and the Banshees back. We’ll break through and get the VIP to the landing pad. Once the Covenant know they’ve lost their chance, they should pull back enough for us to get a Pelican in here with some Falcons as cover.” Chance presses past into the tower itself. We follow.

Inside the realities of the war around the planet could be totally forgotten. The floors are recently waxed and shiny, and everything is clean as can be. The only evidence of something out of the ordinary is the lack of a receptionist behind the main desk, and the collections of stacked supply crates containing weapons, ammo, and whatever else ONI managed to have around for defending the building.

A man by the elevator waves to us. “This way - We’ve got a foothold on the fifty-second floor.”

We pile into the civilian sized elevator, shoulder to shoulder, with Naomi having to duck slightly just to get inside.

“Going up?” Viking asks before thumbing the circular button with ‘52’ marked below it.

“What's to stop the Covenant from cutting the elevator lines?” Wink asks.

“The Covenant did not breach the security offices during their assault. The elevator shafts were sealed on all levels with Covenant activity.” Naomi shifts slightly, causing me to press harder against the wall of the cramped box. “Sorry.” She says, before continuing. “Even if the Covenant assault teams brought heavy cutting equipment it will take time to open up the blast doors sealing the shaft.”

“And they’re probably more concerned with using whatever equipment they did bring on the VIP room.” Chance adds.

“I would assume you are correct, Sergeant.”

I look up, past Naomi’s bulky armored shoulder and see the red LED display counting up as we pass floor after floor. Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight. Almost there. Already I can hear the dull crack of arms fire mixed with the strange ‘whump’ and sizzle of plasma discharge.

“Get ready.” Viking says from his forward position, and I watch him try and raise his rifle towards the elevator doors. 

The elevator dings, signaling our arrival, and the doors slide open. Viking is first out, with Naomi on his left. Then myself and Scratch, with Wink and Chance following right behind. The hallway itself is a T junction, with three different avenues down which lines and lines of offices can be seen, most having their doors either blown off the hinges or kicked outwards. The hallway around the elevator is a mess of overturned desk and emergency barriers. The same black-armored security troopers are hunkered down, rifles barking madly as they exchange fire in multiple directions. A man with a red stripe along his left shoulder pad is grabbing troopers by their armor and redirecting fire to keep the Elites from gaining ground.

“VIP this way.” Naomi states, marching down the Eastern hallway seemingly without a care. She passes the bunkered ONI troopers swiftly and I follow, rifle raised. 

The Covenant resistance is light at first. With Naomi leading the charge, the rest of Kilo-Five is open to take shots at whatever enemy forces are returning fire at the armored titan charging towards them. Of course the Spartan does work herself too. I watch Naomi crush the throat of one elite and then empty several shots into another at point blank before continuing as though nothing had happened at all. Room after room it's more of the same. Covenant strike teams are constantly on the move, searching through the hallways, getting thicker and more dug in the closer we get to the VIP safe room. But the ONI security forces aren't slacking either. They’re taking the opportunity we’re providing to retake most of the floor behind us, and I see several teams moving heavy equipment like rocket launchers into position to repel the other incoming Phantoms.

“Up.” Naomi says, kicking open a doorway to a small, plain grey stairwell. A jackal is on the other side, and I fire a round into its kneecap before Naomi crushes its skull with the butt of her rifle.

Several floors later and we’re working like a well-oiled machine, gunning down strike teams left and right. I eject a magazine from my rifle and slam a fresh one in just in time to put a clean shot through a grunt’s gasmask. Blue blood sprays across the office wall.

“Target ahead.” She says.

I look up to see a group of Elites gathered around a wall. They’ve stripped the covering, and burned their way through layers of mock-wall panelling used to disguise a hidden safe-room. Now they’re at the door, and I can see a thermal lance set up in front of it, the bright tip glowing as they cut their way towards their target.

“Shouldn't be too hard!” Wink calls, raising her sniper rifle and firing a shot that sends one of the Elites crumbling to the floor.

I raise my own rifle and pull the trigger. The muzzle flashes bright yellow and white, and I watch the tracer streak through the air but just then a large, dark-grey metal slab suddenly thrusts out from a nearby office doorway. The bullet pings off the thick metal harmlessly and the massive bulk of something deadly follows it. The creature is titanic, even dwarfing Naomi in her power armor so much so that it can barely fit in the hallway, and completely blocks our pathway forwards. I can’t even see any flesh, as seemingly every inch of its body is covered in thick, purple-blue armor with a large seven-foot, rectangular shield strapped to its left arm. Its head is short, wide and squat, and is nestled between two hulking shoulders. On its right arm is a green glowing weapon - a plasma cannon.

“Holy shit!” Viking screams, skidding to a halt and falling on his ass.

“Hunter!” Wink yells, bracing her rifle against an overturned trash can and firing.

The bullet hits the creature directly on the head, but merely defects off into the ceiling. The entire squad joins in, pelting the armored hulk with fire that does next to nothing. I watch Naomi dive into a nearby office as the creature raises its weapon and a green glow coats the hallway. A bright bolt of plasma arcs outwards and slams into the wall right next to me. Concrete and wood shards explode outwards and the shockwave sends me to the floor.

“We have to get behind it.” Naomi calls.

I crawl forward and look into the office where Naomi had moved to see her bashing her way through the wall in order to get into the next office and flank the hunter.

“We’ll keep it distracted!” I say, grunting as I force myself back up.

“Distracted?!” Scratch questions, firing several blasts from his shotgun to no real effect.

The Hunter raises its weapon once more, and the plasma cannon begins to glow bright green with impending release.

“Grenade out!” Chance calls and I see the small green orb sail through the air. It hits the ground just in front of the Hunter, which raises its shield and almost seems to contract inward till only its armored body is exposed. The grenade explodes shrapnel pings off the armor. The Hunter remains, unmoved by the gesture, but having stopped the firing of its main weapon buying us some time.

“Focus fire on its head! Blind it!” Viking raises his assault rifle and starts firing in bursts, pelting the Hunter’s face. I join in, as do the others, and for a moment it seems to be working. Then a spray of green plasma jets out and hits Wink in the chest. Instantly she’s thrown backwards from the force of the blast, but I hear her screaming where I’d expect to hear nothing at all.

“I’m okay!” She says after a second, “It hit my rifle!”

I look at the discarded weapon, a melted, mangled mess with its barrel bent. Wink reaches for her sidearm and draws, continuing to fire at the Hunter.

“I’ve got him.” Naomi says, and just then I see and hear the flash of gunfire from the Spartan’s rifle coming from behind the massive Hunter.

The creature roars in pain and I grin in triumph. Then I watch with horror as the massive creature raises its shield and moves with incredible agility for its size. It twists around in one smooth motion, the bulky shield scraping the hallway walls, and I see it collide with the side of Naomi’s helmet. There is a ‘PANG’ like a bolt being dropped on a sheet of metal, and the Spartan ricochets off the shield like a pinball. She collides with the opposite wall, crushing it beneath her weight and slumps down. I watch Naomi die and my heart stops beating. The large alien looms over her body, its back facing us now, and I see the mass of orange-red flesh that marks its only true weakness.

“Cover!” Scratch shouts and dashes forwards. He rips something from his pack, something I can’t quite make out at first, but I see seconds later is a satchel charge. A high explosive detonation pack used for taking out enemy hardpoints and key structures. I watch the madman sprint forward with all the speed he can muster, closing the distance, and slap the adhesive side of the satchel charge on the exposed back of the Hunter. The alien howls with rage and whirls around. Just as Scratch looks like he’s about to get free and clear, detonator in hand, the shield collides with his side. There is a sickening crunch, and Scratch’s body is slammed up against the hallway, where afterwards he falls onto the floor in a pile of deformed armor.

“Fuck!” Viking shouts, advancing from cover to pump shot after shot into the Hunter.

I see Scratch’s helmet pivot upwards, looking towards our position and his crackled voice fills the comms. “Sor-rry.” He says, and presses the detonator.

The hallway erupts with the force of the blast and we’re all thrown to the ground. The Hunter is split in half, and most of it is simply vaporized or splattered against the walls and rubble that now surround us. Smoke and drywall dust fill the air, as several of the offices have been devastated by the explosion. A second later the automated sprinklers kick on dousing the area with water.

Viking is the first on his feet, and with rifle in hand he charges forwards. I struggle up, and shoulder my rifle to try and cover him. The Elites that were at the end of the hall appear to have fared no better than us, and are still gathering themselves when Viking arrives. He fires, spraying one with a generous burst, and I manage to put a shot through the cranium of the other. Just like that it's over.

“Scratch!?” Viking calls out, looking around the blast zone the body.

I see him sprawled out under a pile of wood debris and shredded concrete. “There!”

Chance rushes past me with Wink in tow, and soon we’re all trying to uncover the man. “Scratch, can you hear me?” The Sergeant asks, turning the trooper onto his back once we’ve removed most of the debris.

A moment of silence passes as the true extent of the damage is displayed. The Hunter’s shield carved a twelve inch hole through his chest, and probably shredded both his lungs. It's a miracle he was even able to speak. The visor stares upwards and I know in my heart he’s gone. I watch Chance move to take his dog tags and I get up to start looking for Naomi. I raise my hand in front of my helmet, wiping the dust and water away from my visor. It doesn’t help much, but I see the bright blue of her armor and rush towards her.

“Naomi’s here!” I say, grabbing hold of her helmet and trying to remove it. Her armor is blackened from the blast, but all her limbs are still attached and I don’t see any visible bleeding. If her neck wasn’t broken by the strike… “I can’t get her fucking helmet off!” I shout in frustration. 

Wink arrives at my side, and her small fingers search the underside of the Spartan’s helmet for some form of release. The Spartan’s hand lurches forwards and grabs her by the wrist.

“Ow!” Wink cries.

“Naomi! It's okay! It's us!” I shout, pulling her helmet towards mine so she can see.

“What happened?” She asks, grogginess heavy in her voice.

“The Hunter hit you in the head with its shield. I thought you were dead for sure.” I’m almost laughing despite the pain that still hangs in my chest.

“Scratch didn’t make it.” Viking says with a deep remorse coloring his voice.

“I see.” Naomi says quietly, and starts to push herself up. I offer her a hand, as does Wink, but she declines the offer and gets to her feet on her own. “Thank you.” She says with a nod. “Is the VIP secure?”

I realise I have forgotten about the mission and look towards the door. The plasma lance is overturned, and both Elites are dead. “Looks like it.”

“We have to secure the VIP for extract.” Naomi shoulders her rifle and marches onwards.

I look at Wink, who gives me a nod, and with a deep breath to calm myself we fall in. Chance gives Viking’s shoulder a squeeze, and then they too join us.

***

The door to the safe room opens to reveal three marines with assault rifles pointed at us. They quickly lower their weapons when Naomi walks into the room.

“Spartan zero-ten, we’re here to extract the VIP.”

A man with a firm brow, crooked nose and lines covering his forehead. He has short, buzzed hair and a noticeable widow’s peak stands up from where he had been seated and gives us all a wide smile. I recognise him instantly as Colonel Urban Holland.

“Damn good to see you, Spartan.” He says.

“Colonel Holland I have a Pelican awaiting you on landing pad 12. Please come with us.” Naomi turns away, leading the Colonel into the center of our formation. We crowd around, the three marines joining the team, and slowly make our way back through the ruined hallway towards an evacuation pad on the side of the building.

None of us feel much like talking after what happened, and I simply focus on watching for any remaining Covenant forces as we progress to the landing pad. It doesn’t take long till we’re up another three floors and moving down a final hallway that ends in a double-door exiting out onto a large landing pad. As we step outside we’re greeted by a Pelican hovering just above the deck, its engines primed and ready to evacuate the Colonel as soon as he’s on board. Just off to the left and I spot two Falcon gunships providing arial cover.

“Sir,” Chance says, stopping just before we’ve arrived at the Pelican’s loading bay. “Sir, if I can ask you something, why are you down here planetside? I thought you’d be on the Savannah?”

The Colonel looks Change over for a moment but smiles. “I had to reassign the Savannah to cover a little mission Noble team has been staging above planet. They’re giving our Covenant guests a little present and delivering it straight to their precious supercarrier.”

“A bomb?” I ask.

“Something like that.” The Colonel grins, but a moment later his face goes solem. “Kilo-Five I’ve been doing this a long time and I recognise what loss looks like. I know you lost big today, but I promise you it was worth it. ODST get the job done, and today that's exactly what you did. Against the odds you came out on top. We’re not getting through this war without painful blows, but with people like you under my command - well by God we’ll send these alien bastards packing.” Holland extends a hand to Chance, who takes it with a respectful shake. “Thank you, Sergeant. Thank you.”

The Colonel then breaks the handshake and one of the three marines who have already boarded the Pelican gives him a hand onto the ramp. He looks back at us with a smile. “I’m off to meet with Captain Keyes, you might know him. Especially your Spartan here. I’ll tell you what, me and him are gonna have a nice long chat and at the end of it the Covenant are gonna be real sorry they ever came to Reach.”

“Sir! Look!” One of the marines points off into the sky.

I follow his finger and squint. In the dense clouds high above there are bright flashes, and a roar like thunder rolls across New Alexandria. Then the clouds seem to bulge downwards, and from the sky bursts a massive object. It takes me a second to realise what I’m looking at as the purple, sleek hull of a CSO-class supercarrier falls from the sky. The huge craft spears dowards, and then its aft section appears next to it. The entire craft has somehow been cut into two and both pieces collide with the planet. Even miles away from the crush I feel the ground rumble with the force of the collision. I patch my helmet into the sec net and all across the planet people are cheering.

“Confirmed, the Covenant supercarrier  _ Long Night of Solace _ is down! I repeat, the supercarrier is down!”


End file.
